by Ian Stephen
How can we judge if we used our time well? But I’ve no doubts at all about so much of a second of the time we put in to raising our daughter. In case any listeners have been switched off for a while and are just waking up for the business. Here we go.
The Business
THE WILL OF DR PETER WILLIAM MACAULAY. I revoke previous wills and codicils and I appoint to be my executor the Rev Michael Armitage of 21 Drummond St, Edinburgh.
In the event of my death I wish my property to be distributed as follows.
1. Split cane three-piece fly rod by Allcocks with Hardy Viscount reel and all ancillary equipment to Ms Anna Richter MacAulay.
2. Beachcasting rod by Abu Svangsta with Penn reel and ancillary equipment to Anna Richter MacAulay.
3. Telescopic spinning rod by Daiwa (with Made in Scotland thistle badge) and Daiwa reel (unbadged but shit, you’ve got to give a bit of business to your economic allies) also to Anna Richter MacAulay with the recommendation that it be used at least once to pursue migratory fish without written consent.
4. Painting titled ‘Bhalaich an Uisge’ dated 1973, by the Lewis artist Donald Smith to remain in the house known as 35 Kenneth Street, if the reverend can clinch the deal to hang on to said house. If not, Anna it’s yours and if you don’t want it, don’t give it to an Lanntair, who have failed so far to show much interest in this local artist’s work but offer it for the public bar in the Lewis Hotel. Smith is a third or fourth cousin of yours, by marriage, via the Griomsiadair connection.
5. Any vessel that may remain in my possession at the time of my death, to be offered to the North Lewis Maritime Society, without condition. They can sell her if there is not sufficient interest in maintaining her. Anna should feel no sense of duty to take responsibility. I love her dearly and am thus aware that she is addicted to windpower and kayaking. I have however made provision with my executor for life membership of Anna to the Stornoway Sea-Angling Club. And also to the Maritime Society, Falmadair. This trust operates several traditional vessels. These two memberships should enable my daughter to sail and fish to her heart’s content without serious personal financial risk.
6. To Kenneth Finlay Macrae of 42 Dumbarton Court, Brixton, London, I leave the set of cooper’s tools which are on display in the kitchen in the Kenneth Street house. These were given to me by a trained cooper who was made redundant. With these go a copy of Morrison’s transcriptions of oral tales, collected by him, in Lewis. He was a schoolmaster turned cooper.
7. To Mairi Sine Nic a Ghobhainn, of Croft no 6, Garyvard, I leave the clothbound notebook which contains my recollections of the transits for fishing marks, located between the Shiant Islands and Tob Lierway, south of Arnish point. There are also drawings of the skylines which should aid identification of the marks. Mairi will know many of these already but I hope this helps pass them on to the children now in her joint care.
8. To Frau Gabriele Richter, I leave nothing because she has already had more than enough stress from disposing of the possessions I accumulated either as an individual or jointly, during a significant part of my lifetime. If it had been in my powers to do so, I would have given her the body of her father to bury or at least a conclusion to that sad story. I think I fully understood the depth of this human need when Seamus MacLean, my mentor in the Coastguard Service, got hold of me to pass on a word of advice during his retirement party. He had a good dram in him but he made this very clear:
‘Keep the search going, Peter, keep it going even after you’ve no hope. I used to dread the night shifts, down at Oban. A woman kept phoning, asking if we’d found her boy yet. Had we tried all the islands? That’s where he must have got ashore.’
9. To all those gathered for this reading I leave the case of white wine and the case of red, selected by Michael. I’m pretty sure I’ll be resting in peace, fully confident that the corks will have been removed or the screwtops turned. The red will be breathing. Which is more than I’ll be doing but please do pause to reflect that at a future date, you will not be breathing either. There will have been no religious observances made during this ceremony. It is, however, my duty to point this out to you at this time. Even though I’m only half a Lewisman, not a Hebridean but a Hybridean.
Cause of Death
Additional note – Michael Armitage
Friends, as appointed executor of my good friend Peter MacAulay’s estate, I feel it my duty to add a few notes to Peter’s very individual testament, as part of his legal last will.
Some of you may not yet know that, following examination of tissue samples, the cause of death of Doctor Peter MacAulay was listed as COPD. I was myself unfamiliar with the term. The abbreviations stand for Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. I understand that this is a term which covers various forms of blockage such as chronic bronchitis, emphysema, or both. It seems that heavy smoking and a dust-laden environment are both key factors which can lead to the development of this problem until it reaches an acute state.
We could consider it a mercy that Peter was spared further pain. However, it is also a great loss that a man who was hitting the stride of his intellectual development was taken from us. We have no alternative but to trust to a greater wisdom than we can presently perceive.
He would not have wished for too morbid a footnote to his life. However, I cannot avoid sharing the thought that the ironies involved in his death are very much in keeping with those of his life. He was a man who loved the sea and who indeed made his living for many years by helping to protect those in danger on or by the sea. He loved to cook and eat the produce of the sea. Perhaps, in this way, Peter revealed his truly spiritual side. Peter made it clear that he wished for no religious observances at this gathering or at his graveside. But he made no secret of his appreciation of the telling of stories in the gospels or of the pleasure he took in comparing the accounts of events given in them. Allow me to read a few words from the gospel of Mark.
And when the day was now far spent, his disciples came unto him and said, This is a desert place, and now the time is far passed:
Send them away, that they may go into the country round about, and into the villages, and buy themselves bread: for they have nothing to eat.
He answered and said unto them, give ye them to eat. And they said unto him, Shall we go and buy two hundred pennyworth of bread, and give them to eat?
He saith unto them, How many loaves have ye? Go and see. And when they knew, they say Five, and two fishes.
And he commanded them to make all sit down by companies in the green grass.
And they sat down in ranks, by hundreds and by fifties.
And when he had taken the five loaves and the two fishes, he looked up to heaven, and blessed, and brake the loaves, and gave them to his disciples to set before them: and the two fishes divided he among them all.
And they did all eat, and were filled.
I think Peter truly dedicated himself to an area of study he felt important, in his latter phase. This was a part of a major shift in his way of life. Latterly he spent very little time on or near the sea, apart from an occasional short walk to the harbour. His boat was very little used. There are no further extended pieces of writing in his diaries, either handwritten or on print-outs. I could find no further chapters stored in his computer. He seems to have found a focus at last and completed his research and the writing of his thesis in the comparatively short period of two years.
And yet, in a way, he drowned in his own house, in the dust which had encrusted all those folders and files. I was acutely aware of the smell of it, clinging to all his papers and books. As executor, I took all possible steps to contact the relevant parties. It proved impossible to reach Anna in the available time. I feel sure that Peter would have been glad she was able to complete her expedition. His friend Mairi attended with her family. His former wife was present, with her partner. A small number of former colleagues and members of Stornoway Sea-Angling Club, joined our gathering. His sister arranged for a large bunch of
roses signed by both herself and her partner.
Some of Peter’s stated provisions, particularly those relating to the menu, were somewhat challenging. But all involved carried out their duties to the best of their ability according to the availability of fish. I did my humble best ‘on the pans’, with Davie’s assistance. You may have been confused by Peter’s use of the word runag for mackerel. My research informs me that this is a Gaelic term for ‘sweetheart’. This seems to be a transliteration of the Gaelic word rionnach (mackerel) but perhaps, for Peter, the two meanings are fairly close.
Peter was buried in Sandwick, by Stornoway, with no religious or civil ceremonials. A piper was however commissioned to play a selection of jigs and reels before the slow air of his choice. That is the piper’s choice. My recollection of my friend’s last verbal instructions, given to me before he underwent the operation for removal of the cancer, which had spread to a lung, was, ‘Don’t pin the piper down. He’s very welcome to call his own tune, even if we can pay him.’
Executor’s Notes
There follows a bound typescript, the PhD thesis of Dr Peter William MacAulay as submitted and accepted by Aberdeen University.
A copy of the full thesis has also been lodged with Western Isles Libraries but I have duplicated the introduction to the work in its place with the other documents – the writings and correspondence concluding with Peter’s Will and Testament. These seem to have been written over a considerable period of time.
Two notes, written by Peter, are set out below.
‘NOTE 2’ FROM A COMPUTER PRINT-OUT
The memorial stone to Hess which was placed in Eaglesham was destroyed in 1993. To quote the words of a ‘veteran’ National Socialist and founder of the National Socialist Movement of Britain in 1962, C Colin Jordan: ‘Their Asian leader, Aamer Anwar, West of Scotland organiser of the Anti-Nazi League (ANL), a communist front organisation devoted to violence, took up a sledgehammer and proceeded to smash to pieces the memorial to the visitor of 1941.’
‘NOTE 3’
One further typewritten sheet was also found, apparently an appendix to the papers. This appears to be a transcription from the source, as credited, but to date I have not been able to refer to a copy to check this. I do know that Peter was fascinated by alternative versions of the same story.
From The Great Flood of Uig, Isle of Skye, 1877, D. Nairne, 1895
‘Though the weather that prevailed in the Highlands during October was boisterous and destructive, the damage done in other parts of the country was so trifling in comparison that the deluge which occurred in October 1877 will always be known as The Skye Flood. It occurred on Sunday the 13th October, and wrought by far the greatest havoc in the north part of the island, where the rivers drain into the western seaboard. For destructiveness, the flood was unprecedented in Skye, the descent of waters from the hills, where the rain cloud seems to have burst, being sudden and overwhelming. The Conon and the Hinnisdale thundered down in terrible volume, carrying away bridges like matchwood, obliterating crops, sweeping flocks of sheep into the sea, and entirely changing, in several places, the face of the country. At Uig, the ancient graveyard was carried away, all but a small remnant, and hundreds of corpses, in all stages of decay, were scattered up and down the shore, or reburied under the debris, the result of landslips, which was carried down in hundreds of tons. Kilmuir Lodge, belonging to Captain Fraser, which stood on the shore of Uig Bay, was wrecked and the manager, Mr Ferguson, perished in discharging what he considered to be his duty, having refused to leave the lodge to take care of itself in the peril which began to threaten it as the flood rapidly gained in dimensions.’
Acknowledgements
This is a novel and so most of it is made up. It is set in geography which really exists and it refers to some historical events which are well substantiated. None of the main characters in this book are intended to represent any person, living or dead, though there are references to actual writers and artists, some still living.
The character of Anna is completely invented but I am indebted to my two sons, Sean and Ben, for some of her phrases, as children.
Gabriele is another invented character but I am indebted to several different persons’ accounts of their fathers’ survival stories, including that of Barbara Ziehm. I am also indebted to Barbara for some other phrases and incidents as I am to many colleagues and friends, over the years.
References to the tragedy of the Iolaire are indebted to research gone before. I was most influenced by the work done by Don Laing, Norman Malcolm MacDonald and Roddy Murray.
Some of the passages reflecting spoken Doric were tuned with the help of Alexander Hutchison. Alex Patience, from Fraserburgh, also helped bring me a sense of that town. Peter Mackay provided advice on the Gaelic. John McNaught, artist and printmaker, generously shared his ideas and research on the subject of Highland heroes and anti-heroes. John’s own research as well as his storytelling skills, informed me of the astonishing history of the family of Hugh Junor and the documented records of the opinions of some residents of Cromarty at the time of the struggle to end the slave trade in Britain. The initial drafts of some elements used in this book were the result of a commission by Highland Print Studio, in response to an invitation from the director, Alison McMenemy.
The idea of the blowlamp and oil-drum method of Raku firing is lifted from observing the workshop practice of the ceramic artist Alison Weightman. I heard the ‘Hybridean’ gag from Sophia Dale.
Thanks to the following people who have read and responded to drafts of the book:
Elek Horvath, Robert Macfarlane, Lily Greenall, Sue Stone, Peter Urpeth and the author of the report he commissioned as then Writing Development Officer for Hi-Arts.
I am very grateful to the publisher Sara Hunt for the courageous decision to take on this work at a time when most publishers would not consider novels at all, let alone one of this length. My wife, Christine Morrison, has put an incalculable number of hours into listening to the whole novel, then reading many drafts, helping with continuity, formatting and proofreading.
The work could not have been completed without the support of the Scottish Arts Council become Creative Scotland and the Hi-Arts service become Emergents. I wish to mention the late Dr Gavin Wallace individually for the trust shown in backing my proposal to devote two years to developing work from draft versions of many years of prose writing. This novel was brought to an advanced stage during that period. A Creative Futures Residency, developed and administered by Shetland Arts, in partnership with Western Isles Libraries, 2011–2012 also contributed.
Further editing was done as writer-in-residence in the garden of Dora Morrison, Kittle, Wales, and aboard Ken Linklater’s yacht Rebecca, on the road to Rathlin Island.
Back to the beginnings of this, my first novel, I am indebted to the great adventure of Thomas Crawford’s course on ‘Scott and the European novel’ (University of Aberdeen). Some writing which has found its way into this book also found a first readership through the creative writing groups, 1979–1980, initiated by Graeme Roberts, also a lecturer in the English department at Aberdeen.
Some previously published short stories have been reworked into this book. I am grateful to my very first publisher, James Campbell, and subsequent editors of The New Edinburgh Review and The Edinburgh Review; Stand; Waves (Ontario); Northwords Now; ASLS as the publishers of New Writing Scotland; Polygon/pocketbooks as publishers of Mackerel and Creamola and Green Waters. Extracts were published or performed, as prizewinners, in the Baker Prize, run by The Reader’s Room, Isle of Skye, and The Scottish Writers Centre (linked to Aye Write festival, Glasgow). Particular thanks to Alec Finlay of Morning Star Publications and Hugh Andrew of Birlinn/Polygon. Thanks also to Birlinn for permission to quote from Norman M MacDonald’s Portrona.
Thanks to Christian Salvesen PLC and the National Library of Scotland, partners with the Scottish Arts Council in instigating the first Robert Louis Stevenson Award at the suggestio
n of Frankie Fewkes and to Catherine Lockerbie, then literary editor of The Scotsman, who provided important support in the year following the inaugural Stevenson residency.
The support of Donald Smith and the board and staff of the George Mackay Brown Scottish Storytelling Centre over many years has been a major factor in developing chains of stories. I was introduced to the work of Brown at Aberdeen College of Education and met him first, thanks to an invitation to read my own stories at The Pier Arts Centre, Orkney. His positive reaction helped give me the confidence to continue seeking to find a form for my extended work in prose. Norman M MacDonald, Iain Crichton Smith and others who were generous in their comments on my first gathering of short stories (Living At the Edge, Machair Books, 1981) also encouraged me.
Three commissions to write for theatre provided an insight into the development of character. I don’t think this novel could have been achieved without that. The three Scottish directors, Gerry Mulgrew (Seven Hunters), Morven Gregor (Brazil 12, Scotland Nil) and Alison Peebles (The Sked Crew) all brought me into a rich collaborative game.
The views of Peter MacAulay and other characters in this book are not those of the author. Most importantly, I’d like to put it on record that I prefer brill to megrim.
About the Author
Ian Stephen is a writer, storyteller, artist and sailor from the Isle of Lewis. His prose, poetry and drama have been published around the world and garnered several awards. He was both the first winner of a Robert Louis Stevenson Award and the first artist-in-residence at StAnza, Scotland’s annual poetry festival. This is his first novel.