NaBloPoMo #30

I have not managed to post every day during the National Blog Posting Month this year, if only because I had an internet outage for nearly a week. Nonetheless, it is a pleasant challenge to find something to write about every day. I usually do.

November has ended on a note of tragedy in London, with two people killed by a knifeman with extremist views. He in turn was shot dead as it was suspected he was carrying a suicide bomb vest. A lone wolf, who took the opportunity of being allowed into London (from where he was otherwise banned). Over in Holland, three children were hurt by a knifeman in The Hague in a busy shopping street. I know the city and I even know the very street. I lived in The Hague between 1993 and 1997 and went to work on a tram along that street each day.

Today is St Andrew's Day, the patron saint of Scotland and the patron saint of railway level crossing. So with bells jangling and lights flashing, we await the arrival of the December Express, destination 2020.

Signing off from NaBloPoMo 2019.

Thanksgiving 2019 - NaBloPoMo #28

In retrospective mood.
Remembering those who have gone on ahead.
Standing still, for a moment, to honour their memory

Thanksgiving 2019
We give thanks for your life.
We give thanks for who you were.
We give thanks for the light you shone into our own lives.
We give thanks for the legacy you left us.
We give thanks for being there, even though you are gone.
Time matters not where you are now.
But thanks we give for the time we had you.

The Clisham - NaBloPoMo #27

The tallest mountain in the Outer Hebrides is the Clisham, An Cliseam in Gaelic. It stands 2,621 feet or 799 metres tall. The summit is located in North Harris, 30 miles south of Stornoway and is the easternmost peak in a range of five summits. These make for an airy walk / scramble, which takes 9 hours to complete. From An Cliseam you encounter An t-Isean, Mullach bho Dheas (South Peak), Mullach bho Thuath (North Peak) and Mullach an Langa (Long Peak). Of these, I personally have only conquered the lowest, Mullach an Langa, which is 1,975 feet or 602 metres above sealevel.

The range comes into the news in wintertime, when walkers attempt the five peaks (the Clisham Horseshoe) with insufficient daytime hours to do it in. In December, there is (at best) 6½ hours of daylight. On one occasion, a group found darkness coming down on Mullach bho Dheas, and the Coastguard had to guide them down with lights.

NaBloPoMo #24

I passed the cinema whilst on a walk today. People were filing in to watch a film. Today is Sunday, the Sabbath, and not everybody feels it's appropriate to engage in frivolity like going to the cinema - when, in their honest and genuine opinion, people should keep the Seventh Day to pay homage to the supreme deity.

A lady accosted me on passing the cinema and asked me if I was a believer (my response: I'd like to think so). She appeared pleasantly surprised and pressed some leaflets into my hand, asking me to pass them round. Well, I'm not one for forcing my beliefs onto others, but I respect others'. Does not mean to say that I condemn those who wish to go to the cinema on a Sunday afternoon. They are entitled to spend their day off they way they see fit too.

NaBloPoMo #22

Today is the day in 1939 that HMS Rawalpindi was sunk by Nazi German battle cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau. The brief battle has gone down in naval history as an incredible display of bravery on the part of the Rawalpindi's crew. After trying to hide themselves from the Germans in the North Atlantic fog south of Iceland, they were ordered to surrender by the Scharnhorst. In response, the captain of the Rawalpindi said: never. And he fired a shell at the Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau to underline his point. Bear in mind that the Rawalpindi was a converted passenger liner, kitted out with a gun and some armour plating. The Scharnhorst had to reply in kind, and sank the Rawalpindi. The bravery was noted by the German admiralty (sic!). All but 37 of the Rawalpindi's crew were lost in the sinking. Their sacrifice was not in vain; before battle commenced, the Rawalpindi had been able to signal the position of the German battlecruisers to back to base on the Clyde, and an armada of British warships was heading north to intercept. More on this story here.

In a separate blogpost in 2008, the following information transpired:
Rawalpindi was an Armed Merchant Cruiser, converted from a passenger liner by adding 10 pieces of gunnery. While patrolling north of the Faroe Islands on November 23, 1939, she investigated a possible enemy sighting, only to find that she had encountered two of the most powerful German warships, the battlecruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau trying to break out into the Atlantic. The Rawalpindi was able to signal the German ships' location back to base. Despite being hopelessly outgunned, Captain EC Kennedy of the Rawalpindi decided to fight, rather than surrender as demanded by the Germans. The German warships returned fire and sank Rawalpindi within forty minutes. Two hundred and thirty eight men died, including Captain Kennedy. Thirty seven men were rescued by the German ships and a further 11 were picked up by HMS Chitral (another converted passenger ship). Captain Kennedy, the father of broadcaster and author Ludovic Kennedy, was posthumously Mentioned in Dispatches. A detailed account, from the perspective of the Scharnhorst, can be read here.

Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain spoke in the House of Commons afterwards: "These men might have known, as soon as they sighted the enemy, that there was no chance, but they had no thought of surrender. They fired their guns until they could be fired no more, and many went to their deaths in the great tradition of the Royal Navy. Their example will be an inspiration to thosse that come after them".

In spite of these fine words, and in spite of later German reports, captain Kennedy was 'merely' [not my words] mentioned in despatches, and the crew have not been posthumously rewarded for their bravery.

This entry is dedicated to the 238 that lost their lives that day, and to the bravery of all 276 crew.

A list of island casualties, all Royal Naval Reservists:
Seaman COLIN MACKAY
31 South Bragar
Aged 29

Leading Seaman MURDO MACKAY
Mac Choinnich Dhomhnuill Alais 'c Dhonnachaidh
53 Back
Son of Kenneth and Henrietta MacKay
Aged 33

Seaman DONALD SMITH JNR
Domhnall a'Bhard
52 North Tolsta
Son of Angus and Margaret Smith
Aged 19

Seaman DONALD MACARTHUR
Dollan Mhurchaidh Alasdair
10 Cromore
Aged 20

Seaman JOHN MACKENZIE
21 Swordale
Son of Mr. and Mrs. Donald MacKenzie
Aged 26

Seaman NORMAN MACLEOD
25 Swordale
Son of Donald and Mary Macleod
Aged 31

Seaman JOHN MURDO NICOLSON
39 Lower Bayble (also Marybank)
Son of John and Christina Nicholson; husband of Williamina
Aged 36

Petty Officer WILLIAM MACLEOD
14 Sheshader (also Marybank)

NaBloPoMo #21

Ten years ago last August, I stood at the end of the road in Uig. The township was called Mealista, but nobody lives there now. You need to backtrack a mile or so to reach the nearest habitation, the township of Breanais. Distance from Mealista to Stornoway is 43 miles or 69 km. If you were to glance left from the viewpoint in this photograph, you might be able to make out the slipway in Huisinis, in Harris. As the crow flies, the distance is 6.6 miles, or 10.6 km. By road, the distance is 74.1 miles or 119.1 km - the difference of course is about 110 km or 70 miles. It also bears out that in the past, all travel round here went by boat.

NaBloPoMo #18

Well, that's the daily blog posting up the creek without a paddle. ADSL router went up the swanny river last Tuesday evening, and has only now returned to normal service. Have replaced router, and am now catching up with a week's worth of emails and Facebook messages. It's all well and dandy to go to the library, but you can't really do much there. Took between 5 and 15 minutes each time. Maybe just as well, to show oneself how much time is spent on here.

NaBloPoMo #16

A retrospective blogpost, as I was off internet on 16 November.

Fifteen years ago, I started my stint in the tiny township of Cearsiadar (Kershader) in South Lochs, 9 miles southwest of Stornoway by wing. I stayed in a youth hostel, adjacent to the local convenience store. An austere place, run by an austere woman. I gather she has since retired. I traipsed the moors of South Lochs, and became familiar with all the lochans and hillocks in the district. The five mile hike back from Gravir was usually in darkness, as night falls early in winter in Lewis. I would carry a torch, but not to light my own way. In near-total darkness, torches will dazzle yourself. I only switched it on if I heard or saw a vehicle coming in the distance. The B8060 is a far cry from the M25, and I sometimes completed the trek without any traffic in either direction. On my first night in Kershader, I encountered a fellow called Joe who kindly cooked me food. He left, and he was to be the last company in the hostel that side of New Year.

NaBloPoMo #15

I arrived in Lewis in the afternoon of Monday, 15th November 2004. I had spent the morning wandering the machair on the western shores of Berneray. I was not to leave the island for nearly three years, when I went on a trip to Glasgow with a friend. I stayed in a hostel that was hosting workers in the fish processing factories on Goat Island. They were all from eastern Europe. In the afternoon, I took the bus to South Lochs, where I was to stay for nearly three months. Those were punctuated by bad weather, with a lot of wind - one storm was memorable in that it cut power for 48 hours. One township, Shieldenish, was off power for six days. Losing power for a few days is no disaster. The storm, of 11 January 2005, did prove disastrous for a family of Campbells from South Uist. Five of their number, of three generations, were lost in a storm surge in the South Ford. I remember them each year.

NaBloPoMo #13

A day without internet. What do we do nowadays without the world wide web to keep us entertained, informed and distracted? The world would grind to a halt, we’d be utterly lost without the incessant flow of notifications, emails and news – fake or otherwise. Worse than that, entire industries and countries would fall apart, because so much of our lives is regulated through the internet.

If I am honest, I use the internet to distract myself. A very bad use of the phenomenon. I also use it as a tool for searching for information, researching things I need to know. Social media, I use Facebook, perhaps to excess. A day without won’t do me much harm. It does serve to focus the mind, what on earth is going on in my life that I am only sociable on through a computer? Time is pressing on, it’s nearly the middle of November and Christmas and New Year are clearly within sight. No more time to lose.

Fifteen years ago

On November 10th, 2004, I arrived in the Western Isles of Scotland. The afternoon ferry from Uig, Skye, pulled into Lochmaddy, North Uist, at dusk. After a couple of days in Uist, I journeyed north and found myself in Stornoway, for one night. From November 16th until February 9th, 2005, I stayed in the Ravenspoint Hostel at Kershader, 22 miles south of Stornoway (as the bus goes), 9 miles as the crow flies. It was a singular place. I was there on my own for most nights, although I did have company once or twice. There were more sheep than people in Kershader. For two nights, a howling hurricane put the power off. During those three months in South Lochs, I wandered the moors of the district. It was winter, when darkness comes early here in Lewis. I remember Loch nan Eilean, the big glen between Loch Odhairn at Gravir and Loch Seaforth at Arivruaich. Loch Sgiobacleit and the floes of ice, moving on the surface of Loch Totaichean Amhlaidh. I'm strangely melancholic at the memory of that time; not yearning back to it - because that's a phase in my life long gone, and I cannot go back there. I don't want to. But the hills, the moors and the lochs were soothing for me at that time.

A parallel with later events exists regarding my departure from Uist in 2004. I stayed in Lochmaddy, and it was in Lochmaddy that I met Sophia for the last time, some 8½ years later. On a cold morning in November 2004, I found myself walking the machair in Berneray, before deciding to head for Stornoway. It was the machair in Berneray that proved soothing for Sophia, during the last four years of her life, when she lived there. It was the machair in Berneray where some of her ashes were scattered in December last year.

Armistice Day - NaBloPoMo #11

On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, the guns fell silent. Fifteen million lay dead. Just because an archduke got shot in Sarajevo? Because the royal houses of Europe decided to have a family tiff? No, it's never as simplistic as that. But this post is not about the reasons for the Great War. It is about those fifteen million. Servicemen from all sides, civilians from all sides. It was the age of duty, you signed up because you felt it was your duty. Duty towards King and Country. If you didn't volunteer, if you tried to dodge the draft, you were a coward. You could be handed a white feather, oh the disgrace. But that overlooked the genuine panic and fear that had some 3,000 shot at dawn. Only very recently have these unfortunate souls been exonerated, and their honour restored to them.

Over the past 15 years or so, I have been active to compile listings of the men from the island of Lewis in particular, and from the Outer Hebrides in general, who went to war from August 1914 until November 1918. When focusing on Lewis, their number stands at roughly 6,200. The number of dead is not set in tablets of stone; I have it at roughly 1,300. It matters not. Of that number, 181 were lost seven weeks after the Armistice, when their transport, HMY Iolaire, sank off Stornoway. Twenty others were Iolaire crew.

We all fall silent at 11 in the morning on November 11th. I have marked the occasion for thirty years now, initially listening to the event on BBC Radio 4 longwave, 198 kHz. Not until I came to Stornoway, in November 2004, did I start to actively observe the Armistice. I have photographed the war memorials here, each stating the war to have ended in 1919, unlike everywhere else in the UK, where the end year is 1918. I have photographed over 400 wargraves and war-related gravestones in the island's cemeteries. I have compiled my findings on several websites, for all to see - at no charge. It's not for money that I have done this work.

Lest we forget.

Remembrance Sunday - NaBloPoMo #10

Remembrance Sunday across the United Kingdom, when the Fallen from two World Wars and conflicts since are remembered. Two minutes' silence at 11 o'clock in the morning. This marks the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, when the guns fell silent, the end of the Great War. It later became the First World War, because less than 21 years later, the guns fired up again, and for six years, the world became a battlefield again. Even after two atomic bombs, dropped on two Japanese cities, war did not disappear from the face of the earth. Korea, Suez, Vietnam, Afghanistan, the Falklands, the Balkans, Iraq, the Middle East generally - we have to accept war as a fact of life.

I conclude this post with one of the war memorials in the island of Lewis. This one can be found in the village of Breacleit in Great Bernera, which is an island off mainland Lewis, 25 miles west of Stornoway. Its tiny villages haemorrhaged young men during two world wars, remembered here. You may not have heard of Breaclete, Croir, Valasay, Tobson, Hacklete, Kirkibost; or Earshader, Crulivig and Lundale on mainland Lewis, part of Bernera.

Lest we forget

Reichskristallnacht 1938 - NaBloPoMo #9

It is 81 years ago since the Night of Broken Glass [Kristallnacht]. That night, an organised mob of Nazi forces and sympathisers went on the rampage in towns and cities across Germany, smashing and destroying Jewish-owned property and businesses. It was a foretaste of what was to come during World War II. The extermination of anyone deemed sub-human by the warped mind of Adolf Hitler and his henchmen. Jews topped their league of the unfit, closely followed by gypsies, the mentally ill and many many others. The Reichskristallnacht was a night of infamy, and not just to Germany. Hitler had already been allowed to get away with murder for several years beforehand. In 1936, he occupied the Rhineland which had been ceded to France at the end of the First World War. The League of Nations, the predecessor of the United Nations, cried wolf but had no bite. On 12 March 1938, Nazi forces marched into Austria to join that country to Germany, an event referred to as the Anschluss. Neville Chamberlain flew to Munich to meet with Adolf Hitler on 30 September 1938, returning with the infamous phrase: "Peace for our time". Six weeks later, the Reichskristallnacht took place. Only a few months later, Germany invaded the Sudetenland area of Czecho-Slovakia, and again, nobody moved a finger to stop. In September 1939, Hitler thought he could get away with the invasion of Poland. But this time, it prompted a declaration of war, signalling the outbreak of the Second World War. The lights have gone out in Europe, it was said at the time. The lights in Europe had already been extinguished in 1914, and had not been relit, not even at the end of the First World War. The Versailles Peace Treaty of June 1919 contained all the ingredients for another war, which duly materialised. After the unspeakable atrocities of the Second World War, Germany was divided into four by the victorious allies. The British, French and American sectors became West Germany, whilst the Soviet sector was turned into East Germany, a communist state. Berlin was similarly divided. Until 1961, people from the East fled to the West in droves. A barrier was erected across Berlin in August 1961, later replaced by a high, concrete wall. Similar barriers were put up along the borders between East and West Germany. Anyone trying to flee from East to West was shot on sight, no questions asked. The advent of Mikhail Gorbatchov as leader of the USSR in the 1980s heralded a start of change. And when this wind of change blew across eastern Europe, it blew away all the communist regimes within the space of a few months in 1989.

The Berlin Wall was torn down on 9 November 1989, and you can see the dilemma. Do we remember the Kristallnacht, and not celebrate the reunification of Germany? Do we celebrate the reunification, and ignore the Night of Broken Glass? Maybe the two can be reconciled. The Berliners remember the Kristallnacht in a very low-key but poignant manner. Every year, in the evening of November 9th, candles are left on the doorsteps of houses that were ransacked that night.

The flame, burning at the top of this post, is my candle of remembrance for Kristallnacht.

Newton Marina works, 2019 - NaBloPoMo #8

Over the past seven months, I've watched with interest how the derelict foreshore of Goat Island is being transformed into a marina. A huge amount, 44,000 tons, of aggregate has been dumped on the place, and a substantial amount of land was reclaimed from the sea. The basin in which the boats will eventually be moored was dredged out using a method with bunds. This means that you build a pier of rocks into the sea, then remove the bund again whilst dredging out the sea around it - and from the location where the bund was located. There were seven such bunds, but that work is now complete. Dredging also took place from a barge, moored in the old basin. As I type this, the first of the pontoons is being installed. Once completed, the marina will be able to house 80 yachts. The marina in the Inner Harbour here in Stornoway can house a similar number.

The first of the bunds



Working the bunds



Walking on water in October



Constructing the slipway




State of affairs 8 July



Marine dredging



A sgoth nosing around the works early in September



Constructing the breakwater at sunset in October



Removing the railings along the causeway



Constructing the pontoons, early November



This picture shows the works on 6 November

NaBloPoMo #7

I'm in reflective mood today. I turned to my very first blog, Northern Trip, and the entry for this day in 2004. I was in Fort William, to be precise, the Glen Nevis Youth Hostel. At the time, I was youth hostelling my way round Scotland, just a few days off heading northwest for the Outer Hebrides. On that day, I explored the forestry plantations on the western flank of Ben Nevis. It was towards the end of my wanderings round the Highlands and Islands, what with winter coming on. A beginning of the end of a difficult period of my life. As you all know, I've stayed in the Outer Hebrides for 15 years. Slowly, very slowly, during that  period, I was to climb out of the slough of shutting everything out, only one day at a time, without regard for the future. Five and a half thousand days later, I'm beginning to regain the high ground. I'm infinitely grateful for the kind soul in Stornoway who took me in. I have attempted to repay that kindness over later years. That period is closing now, the person concerned now being very advanced in years and rapidly declining health. Very soon, I'll make the necessary steps towards the next phase in my life.

NaBloPoMo #6

The campaign for the General Election in the United Kingdom has formally commenced today. The Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, attended Her Majesty the Queen today to request the dissolution of Parliament for the purpose of an election. That request was granted, so for the next five weeks it's going to be election news all the way. On December 13th, Brexit will return to the top of the agenda. The main political parties are having a stumbling start at it, with the Conservatives bothered with a minister shooting his mouth of and another minister seeming to be embroiled with someone who wrecked a rape trial. I despair of Labour, who appear to be condoning the break-up of the United Kingdom. They would be prepared to grant the Scottish Government a Section 30 order, to enable a referendum on independence to be held. The Lib Dems are in cloud cuckoo land, by thinking they could be the party of government. Coming from just 20 seats (out of 650) to 313? C'mon, Jo Swinson, get real. Oh, she is the leader of the Lib Dems. One day down, 35 to go. Groan.

NaBloPoMo #5

Remember, remember, the fifth of November. Guy Fawkes night again, and people across the land will be letting off fireworks to commemorate the Gun Powder plot. In 1605, he had conspired to blow up Parliament - unfortunately, it did not work out as intended, He was captured, tried and found guilty, and put to death through torture and hanging. They didn't do measures by half in those times.

This year, a petition to Parliament has drawn about a quarter of a million signatures. They plead to Parliament to ban the sales of fireworks to private individuals. I quote

Every year more and more people, animals and wildlife get hurt by fireworks. It’s time something was fine to stop this. There are enough organised firework groups around for us to still enjoy fireworks safely so please help me stop the needless sale of them to the public!

The petition will be withdrawn from the website tomorrow, as parliament will be dissolved ahead of the General Election on December 12th. 

In the Netherlands, £60m worth of fireworks were sold to the public in 2018. It is a national passtime at New Year, and an entrenched habit (which I, personally, don't particularly like). Apart from pollution and distress caused to animals, there is a growing tide of violence against emergency service workers (police, firemen and ambulance workers), fuelled by excess alcohol. Many people illegally import fireworks from other countries, where the rules on fireworks are less stringent than in Holland. They commonly have more gunpowder in them and can cause death and destruction. Each year, dozens of people, many of them minors, attend hospital A&E departments with injuries to eyes, limbs, hearing and other parts of the body. Some permanently lose eye sight, hearing or limbs - and fatalities are known to occur as well.

Letting off fireworks is a specialised skill that private individuals do not have. Even if all instructions on the packaging are followed, the risks remain high. Too high, in my mind.

NaBloPoMo #4

Bit of an odd situation in the Westminster Parliament today, with a new Speaker being elected. It is Sir Lindsay Hoyle, who has been a deputy for 9 years or so. The oddness is about the fact that the House of Commons will be dissolved tomorrow ahead of the General Election on December 12th. So the news is now all about party political posturing. That's bad enough, but in Scotland, they're once more talking about an independence referendum. The Conservatives have said they'll never grant a Section 30 order, which would allow a poll on independence, but Labour would. Big mistake, in my opinion. I remain opposed to Scottish independence.

NaBloPoMo #3

Everybody merrily observes Hallowe'en, equally merrily forgetting what it is all about. It is All Hallows' Eve, in fact the last day of summer in the olden days.

November 1st, All Hallows, Samhainn in the Celtic tradition, is the first day of winter. In many parts of the Western world, it's the day in which we remember those that have gone on ahead.

I have a list of at least eleven names; one in Scotland (possibly more), four in Holland (including one relative) and six in J-land. These observances will have been part of church services today.

My names are:

• Joop, Jaap, Bep and Jos
• Sophia
• Donna, Cynde, Cindy, Jeannette, Jimmy and Merry

NaBloPoMo #2

As tonight's gale blows through, my memories go back a year today. We would not know for a couple of days, but one of life's bright sparks went out on the tide in the night. The tide, moving from An Radio to the stars, carrying the mermaid beyond the oceans of this world. Rest in peace. I'm glad you were happy, I'm glad you made so many happy.

A day later, it's this Monday, another bright spark was released from pain and suffering in upstate New York. A support to many in the on-line community we have come to know as J-land, an avid supporter of ice hockey and not averse to speaking her mind: Donna succumbed to the ravages of cancer, which gradually got the better of her through 2018. 

I'm not just missing those friends who have passed beyond the confines of this world. I'm also missing those who are not around me just now, for various reasons. These last few days have been very quiet, as one of my closest friends has had to go into hospital for tests. Being of advanced years, such is almost inevitable, but it is hoped a relatively simple procedure will fix whatever had gone wrong these last two weeks. Not changed in spirit, but as always when in hospital, you are dependent on the medics to decide your fate. I hope they will be back, installed in their home of many years, for a good while yet.

National Blog Posting Month

I was reminded that November is NaBloPoMo, when bloggers are expected to publish a post each day of the month. Therefore, my previous post (on Bolstering Bolstadir) is post #1 of NaBloPoMo. I'll attempt to keep the momentum going. This, by the way, is not post #2.

Bolstering Bolstaðir

I attended a talk by professor Donna Heddle of the University of the Highlands and Islands on Norse placenames in Scotland - and beyond. Viking is not a correct name, it is an action, not a descriptor. They referred to themselves as Northmen.

Did you know that Istanbul was known as Miklagarðr (Large Fort) by the Northmen, and that Russia was founded by the Vikings?

The talk was entitled Bolstering Bolstaðir, Bolstaðir being Norse for farm or homestead. Quite a few Bolstaðir about, it would appear. All indicative of Norse influences. The names are often corrupted, such as Bosta and Embo; Habost (high farm) and Swainbost (Swain's Farm). Leurbost is Muddy Farm; compare to Lerwick in Shetland, which means Muddy Bay.

We all know Shader, such as the village near Barvas, Shulishader (Sea Farm), Grimshader (Grim's Farm); favourite Viking boy's names being Grim and Glom. Hm.

The word Vik means bay, and is also incorporated in many placenames, often corrupted such as Stornoway. Steerage Bay. The town of Wick in Caithness speaks for itself, as does Uig in Skye; and the district in Lewis.

The suffix -øy denotes an island, such as Pabbay (priests' isle), Ensay, Killegray &c.

Fascinating stuff.

More info in this article