‘O, vó vó vó – how am I going to get out of this difficulty?’ he says. And he was looking around him and making another attempt and still failed. Now the helm and the rudder were out and so he got within reach of the helm, took off the helm, took off the rudder and put them both inside the boat. Now he caught hold by the stern and he put his big toe on the lower iron for holding the rudder for a support, and hove himself into the boat. Well, he was successful and, with the assistance of the iron that was to hold on to the rudder, he gave himself a spring and that brought him into the boat.
Now John was standing aboard and, ‘Nothing else for it, boy,’ he says, ‘plenty sunshine, strip off, be the wild man in the Philippine Islands and row bare in the sun to Mingulay.’ And he spread his clothes all over the little boat in the thwarts, and there they were.
That was the position, now, until he came in sight of the beach at Mingulay, and he knew that a lot of people would be waiting on the beach to give him a lift to draw the boat high and dry, and so he got himself respectably clad before meeting the crowd on the beach.
‘Well,’ he says, ‘well, my dear men, I am sorry to tell you, you were very nearly minus a schoolmaster today. When I was off the Island of Sandray,’ John said, ‘I fell over the side and by good luck, and the hand of Providence being over me, I took off the helm, took off the rudder, and with the assistance of the lower iron that was holding the rudder on, I managed to get aboard.’
And they all wept, you know, and said, ‘Oh, John, we are very pleased to see you.’ And then he said, ‘Get hold of the painter and we will draw the boat ashore.’ So when they got her beached, after throwing out the ballast, John jumped out and he was quite dry. Now they were merry, and someone went up and kindled a fire at the schoolhouse there.
[Mingulay, where John was teaching, is about fifteen miles south of Castlebay, and has no natural anchorage. There used to be eighteen families living there, but they left in 1908 and settled on Vatersay and near Castlebay.]
More about John
This particular day we were out fishing and it was an exceptionally beautiful day – it was the beauty of the day put me in mind of the story. ‘Well, John,’ says I, ‘we are having a good time.’
‘Oh yes, Coddy, we are having a good time. Isn’t this now far better than standing teaching a lot of poor little children that the Almighty didn’t put any sense in their heads – and here’s poor John standing trying to knock sense in, that the Creator failed to do.’
That is the picture he made to me of his job, standing in the boat with the Coddy!
Another day we were going to Eriskay, John and myself. There was an Eriskay man after shooting his lines and he was sitting comfortably in his boat having a little doss to himself.
‘By the by, Coddy,’ says John, ‘who is that man in the boat?’
‘That’s Angus MacKinnon,’ says I.
‘Well,’ John says, ‘he is enjoying the day very much and he is lying down there – I don’t believe he could be more happy in Heaven than waiting till he starts to haul his lines.’
So we passed to Eriskay and did not rouse him at all; it would be a crime to destroy his slumber.
Alastair and the tenth of May
One year in Castlebay there was a big dispute between the fishermen of Barra and the curers, and the fishermen were not keen to allow herring to be landed before the 10th May. Now there was a big fleet in Castlebay and they challenged the Barramen that they would go to sea and the curers would buy, so the Barramen said, ‘You won’t, because the herring is not mature and the time is not ripe for curing and the reputation of the Barra herring on the continental markets we have had from time immemorial, you would be letting that down.’ However, the day came on which the decision was given. All the Barramen went up to Castlebay to see that they would not be allowed to land any herring until this day. Now they told the fishermen and the curers they had no ruling from the Fishery Board over them, the natives of the island, and it was the decision of the Barramen that had to be taken. So Alastair was the head of this and they would not allow any herring to be brought in.
And who should be very strong against the Barramen but a black-bearded policeman who was on the island, a Mr Tait, a much disliked human being. And my friend Alastair had no love for him either.
Now Alastair held a conference and they formed a body on the beach where the samples were to be landed– ‘And I will preach against you to let the herring go on.’
The first man that came with the sample was a man from the port of Hopeman. And the policeman was there to catch a sample and Alastair formed a ring of Barramen round himself, and he turned, and they began to push Alastair into the sea. Alastair stopped them and said, ‘Are you going to put me into the sea?’ Alastair was near the policeman by this time and he turned round to the mob and told them off and swore at them: ‘Ye children of the Devil, are you going to put me into the sea?’ – and the more Alastair cried the more they pressed on him, until he was very near the policeman, and he gave him one kick and threw him into the water.
Immediately the policeman was into the water Alastair said, ‘Come on, get on with the job – here’s the policeman in the water – get that scummer.’ There was a scummer lying in the visibility. Someone handed Alastair the scummer, he put it round the policeman and dragged him quietly ashore and as Alastair said, ‘I would give him a kick but it was against the law of the country.’ And the policeman walked quietly away and the Barramen got their way of it and Alastair was very proud that his scheme worked out well and that he was the conqueror. And there was no herring caught until the time approved by the Board, and given by the Barramen, and the Barra fishermen won the day.
[Alasdair Aonghais Mhóir was a well-known character on Barra. He was a Gaelic story-teller too.]
Alastair and the pigs
Alastair was one night in the mill, and the miller kept him behind all the others because he lived nearer the mill. And also the mill was not working too well owing to the shortage of water, and that also kept Alastair behind. However, he got his meal into his bags ready to go and the miller gave him a hand putting the sack on the pony. By this time it was getting near the early hours of the morning, and when Alastair was about two hundred yards from the mill, there is a stream running on the north side of the road called Abhainn Gluig. On drawing nearer to it Alastair saw six pigs, and when Alastair saw the six pigs his hair stood on end with fear. Immediately he made a sign of the cross with the water of the stream and then he turned round and threw a good sprinkling on the pigs. Immediately Alastair had thrown the water which he blessed himself on the pigs, ‘they scattered,’ says Alastair, ‘on fire, and went right up to the skies and into the kingdom of Satan – where they came from!’ So nobody saw the pigs after Alastair gave them that shower-bath from Abhainn Gluig.
[There were no pigs kept on Barra, then or now.]
The story of the thrush
One particular Saturday Iain was in Castlebay and he fell into a tremendous company which lured him away. And they were turning them out at ten, and he was making a very poor passage, Iain was. He had with him a pint of whisky. Well, coming down about Tangusdale the road was getting the better of Iain, and he was not making what you would call a passage of it at all, and so he sat down. And with the peace and quietness and the beauty of the night, he went to sleep and that carried him to the early hours of the morning, and when he woke he was in such a terrible condition that he vowed by all that was holy that he would never take another dram. Before he was properly awake he thought he was hearing music. Lo and behold, what music was that but a thrush crooning to herself the most beautiful of music, and saying, ‘Poor Iain, you-are-very-dry, you-are-very-dry, you-are-very-dry’ – ‘Iain mac Iain, ’s-tu-tha-tioram, ’s-tu-tha-tioram, ’s-tutha-tioram’ – several times in succession.
After hearing the thrush continually coming out with the same tune he then gave a great sigh and he said to himself, ‘Well, the poor thrush is telling the tr
uth, and even though I promised myself I would not take any more drams, I had better take a drop.’
Then he was beginning to talk to himself, saying this and the next thing, and after he got that life-saver he began to feel a little more comfortable. And all of a sudden he thought that the thrush changed the tune, and he said that the thrush’s tune this time was, ‘Iain, Iain, take-another-mouthful, take-another-mouthful, take-another-mouthful’ – ‘Iain mac Iain, gabh-balgam-eile, gabh-balgam-eile, gabh-balgam-eile.’
Which he did.
By then there was not much left in the bottle. As he was looking at the bottle again, Iain heard the thrush begin to sing another tune, ‘Iain-finish-it, Iain-finish-it, Iain-finish-it’ – ‘Iain mac Iain, cuir-crìoch-air, cuir-crìoch-air, cuir-crìoch-air.’ And the mouthfuls continued until latterly there was not any more to take – the bottle was dry.
Well, the next stage, he decided that he had better go back to Castlebay anyway, and he said it was when he was already half-way up that he thought he had better turn. And so Iain arrived at the pub one of the earliest customers that day.
[This story occurs elsewhere. See Holmer, The Gaelic of Arran, p. 175.]
The betrothal and wedding of John the fisherman
John was at first a fisherman and then a sailor, and without a doubt one of the best, if not the best, the island ever reared. John was a widow’s son, and it is said that his father got gold on the shore from a coffin which contained a well-to-do lady who was buried at sea, and a crock containing a quantity of gold was put in the coffin along with the lady to bury her. The lady was buried quietly, minus the gold. John, when he grew up, followed the fishing both on the west and east coasts of Scotland.
Once on the east, fishing out of Fraserburgh, he had done a bumper of a fishing, so when he came home he went without much delay to see his favourite girl. After several nights of this routine John decided to pop the famous and important question, ‘Will you marry me, Catriona? – and if you agree we shall do it without any delay.’ It took Catriona some time before she replied, ‘yes’ in a low and humble tone, but if she knew what was lying ahead of her – and very near – her reply would be very doubtful!
However, it was decided that the betrothal would be the very first Friday night. John got ready to go to the nearest inn, which was Pollachar, and ordered seven gallons of whisky at fifteen shillings per gallon, five pounds five shillings – cheap compared with today.
John and Catriona were great favourites on the island, which meant that nearly the whole island had to be invited. This was done. It was a tremendous feast; some hundred hens were killed and four or five sheep. Now the party assembled. The cooks and stewards were cooking outside and the usual ceremony gone through, and when this came to an end, Catriona got her parents’ consent.
The eating and drinking and dancing went on at a furious rate – so much so that the fire on the middle of the floor was danced out of existence, and all the ashes went out through the hole in the roof, that was meant for this kind of escape. This went on for a considerable time but unfortunately whisky began, and too much of it began, to speak. Some of the men began to fight and at the latter end they were all fighting, and now there was still showing no signs of peace. There was an outbreak among the cooks and stewards, and at last John’s betrothal developed into a hurricane of eating and drinking, dancing and fighting.
This carried on until the cock crew – as soon as that happened peace was declared. John himself, who told me the story, said the Cock frightened the Devil away.
The party separated on Saturday morning. All day Saturday the news was going round about the night before and John was not too happy about it, getting all the blame for being so generous about the whisky. On Sunday morning John had to go to Daliburgh to put in the proclamations. When he came in sight of Lochboisdale he saw a steamer lying at the pier. Instead of going to the church he made a bee-line for Lochboisdale and was twenty-one years before he returned!
* * *
Now his adventures through all those years were very numerous – in fact, too numerous to mention. John joined the steamer at Lochboisdale, calling in various other ports on the way to Glasgow. The voyage took ten days. The first move John made was to go down to the docks and admire the sailing ships. He very much admired one in particular, catching the eye of the mate. He asked John did he want a ship?
John replied, ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Where are your discharges?’
John replied, ‘I have not got any.’
‘And in what capacity were you going to sea?’
John replied, ‘I was a fisherman.’
‘Very good, my young man. My father was a fisherman, and also a good seaman.’
John joined the ship without any delay. Never having seen a sailing ship before, he began to acquaint himself with sails and all other jobs on board the ship. One day they were ordered aloft – John was rather stiff the first day! When they got to sea it was all plain sailing to him.
The first voyage was to New York. If he was going to New York today he would find a mighty difference. At the end of every voyage John would have a few days’ celebrations, promising himself, ‘I am going back to Eriskay and marry Catriona.’ This routine continued for many a long year.
John was promoted to the capacity of a boatswain. One day they were lying at anchor in the River Amazon. Through the captain’s fault John and the second mate fell out and the fight started and John in one of the rounds knocked out for ever the mate. Now the captain was called. The mate was declared dead and the verdict against John was that he was to be hanged to the yardarm tomorrow. On the top of this he had to keep the anchor watch to night. This was to be his last night on the face of this earth.
John went on duty. First he began to leave it to luck that he might be forgiven. Latterly he decided on swimming ashore and trusting to providence. At the dead of night, when all was still and silent, John made up his haversack and tied it well on his back. Before taking the plunge he went on his knees and prayed and promised if God would spare him to get ashore this time not another voyage would he ever make but one for Scotland, and see Catriona and marry her.
Now he takes the plunge, and to swim maybe the last mile in his life. He made a beautiful picture of hope that he would see Catriona. When he was coming to the end of the mile he was feeling tired but still he had sufficient energy to walk up safely on the rocks and thanked God for his safety. Catriona again came into the picture and a second vow of seeing her sure this time passed through his heart most affectionately. All of a sudden a tremendous shark jumped out of the water, so near to the shore that some of the spray hit John on the head while he was yet dressing, and a third vow he made to see Catriona and to marry her.
The road was just near. All was still and silent. After going up the road he heard a furious noise in one of the buildings, so furious that he thought it was an asylum! On making a latter survey he found it out to be a lot of people rolling on iron rollers – that is exactly the term he used. He continued to walk until he was a considerable distance from the port. Feeling hungry, he went to a farmer’s house and asked for some food. This he did get. He then asked the farmer what hopes there were of a job in this locality. The farmer said there was a coal-mine – people were always coming and going from there. John went over to the coal-mine and got a job and stayed for over two years. Then he went to look for a ship and with his earnings in the coal-mine and his homeward voyage, he counted on going home to Eriskay with a handsome sum to marry Catriona, which had to come before any other enjoyment.
John arrived, and got to Eriskay and made a bee-line to see Catriona, who did not know he was coming home. Since John left, Father Allan McDonald was the priest in charge of Eriskay.1 John went to see him and told him his story, yes, his wonderful story.
Next Sunday John was to be proclaimed after twenty-one years’ absence. Immediately after it became known that John was getting married, the boys started to build mounds of old boots, t
in cans and everything that could be thrown except stones. John went to see Father Allan and told him what was happening, so they decided to come to the church in a boat, Catriona, himself, the best man and the bridesmaid, and so that evening saw John and Catriona married.
* * *
John is now married and settled down. One day he said to Catriona, ‘What about going on a little honeymoon?’
‘And what is that, John dear?’
‘It is a usual trip taken by people who marry,’ said John.
They invited a few friends with them and then they arranged to go and take John’s own boat. Little did poor Catriona know that John was planning a drinking expedition. However, they sailed from Eriskay to Lochboisdale. When they left, the weather was fine, but towards the evening the weather got stormy, in more ways than one. John came down from the hotel very much under the weather, so much so that Catriona refused to go into the boat with him, but she went into the small boat. The wind was blowing a Sou’-sou’-east dead ahead of Eriskay. When they went out a considerable distance in the Minch they put about and Catriona was speaking to them.
Now they were on the homeward tack. They had another dive at the bottles and when they got on deck looking out for the Haun at Eriskay they discovered that the small boat was adrift. Then there was a terrible panic on board, tacking and turning all the night. They went to the forecastle and said their prayers – John was in a terrible stupor, and he said that Catriona was dead, and without a doubt she was in her mother’s lap in Heaven.
Tales from Barra Page 11