4. A Bit of History!

Now that we have the MacDonalds comfortably(?) installed in Drinishader, let's pop in something about the history of the islands and the clan. The islands have been inhabited for up to 15 000 years, and one tradition states that the very first settlers came up from Spain. There is a Celtic corner of Spain called Galicia. The jury is still out on that one, but the DNA has some evidence of it.

There is also the tradition that the Celts who inhabited Britain came from the great plains of Europe, and brought the horse with them. What we do know is that the Romans, who managed to conquer the Southern Celts, built a huge wall across the North of England and declared that civilisation ended there.

Meanwhile, our sunworshipping ancestors were erecting stone circles, and living on venison and seafood. Their pottery has been dug up near the Teampull at Northton. There are traces of neolithic(Stone Age) and Bronze Age  settlements, and of agriculture, but lots of work has to be done before we get the whole picture.

Some of our ancestors came from Munster, Cork and Kerry and added their bit. they also brought their brand of Christianity, along with St Columba. One of their tribes was the Scots.

Celts are we? As kids we all thought so. Round about 700CE the Vikings hit the Hebrides, massacring monks, stealing anything that glittered and basically taking over. They only left after Alexander III  Beat them at the Battle of Largs in 1263.  By then they had transferred their DNA to their descendants, so we are Scandinavian Celts.   And our chiefs are descended from Somerled and  from  Dalriadic Celts. that's why the place names are Norwegian and the language Gaelic.

View From Drinishader

But what are the Macdonalds doing in the tough, stony Bays instead of lovely Northton? 

And even pretty Stockinish with its colourful fishing boats is a bit of a shock when we all know Grandpa

was a crofter.
                                      





                                                                                                                                             

2. The Northton House

 The House at Northton

Northton is a straggling village in South Harris. No 37 is about halfway down, on the right side on the way to the machair and the beach. It is a solid single storey. According to my Uncle Neil, my grandfather built it himself, using the government grant. he added ten pounds of his own money, so it was called the "Ten Pound House". The first person to sleep in it in 1926 was Uncle Neil. The house contained some magnificent antique furniture, including grandad's brass bed and some lovely marble wash stands. A pew from St Clement's church in Rodil  stood in the small sitting room. From the kitchen window there are views of the lagoon and the mountains, and a lovely wild rose bloomed at the side of the house. I have great memories of the house, and  my father loved it. He was born there. It was his best place.

Northton in Winter



The Boy on the Bicycle
Dad at No 37



14. On Matters Spiritual

No, it's all right. You are not about to receive a sermon. One in the family is enough -though Murdo Ewen MacDonald was not a dull preacher!

My husband Len and I visited the Hebrides some years ago, and he had a severe case of culture shock. Visiting the Church of Scotland in Tarbert was O K for me. The only difference from the all too distant past was that the service was in English. I remember that my English Mum and I were round the corner in the old days. Organs and pianos they had not, and have not. What they do have is a precentor who gives you the first few bars. Then the rest of us join in. Amazing things happen if the precentor has decided on one tune and the congregation on another.He doesn't have to be Caruso, but he does have to have perfect pitch. And the congregation belts it out very tunefully.

The psalm spooked Len. Before the advent of Benedict XVI, psalms were said, not sung, and he didn't get the tune until we were well into the third verse. The length of the sermon was also a problem. Catholics, on the whole get 7 minutes- ten if you're unlucky- and they have you in and out within the hour.

So it was that we trundled through to Stornoway to pay me back.

The Catholic church was a blast: lovely hymns, nice people and a cup of tea afterwards. "I didn't recognise any of the tunes," said my husband, which is where I found out that in any geographical area, Christians tend to sing the same tunes, sometimes to very different words.

The real fun started with the Americans. There are nice Americans, but this pair were an education. We had a second sermon on why one should NEVER leave one's handbag on the pew, because it will be stolen. Other hints and tips followed on how to deal with the criminals rampaging round the altar. Our hosts looked suitably stunned. I'd have felt very sorry for them if I hadn't known they were storing it up to imitate to friends and family for years to come.
                                                                                                                                                                The Hebrides have probably one of the lowest crime rates in the world. We had a good giggle on the way back to our lovely B & B, where two Americans shared our table. As we ploughed through our wild salmon with lots of trifle to follow, they bemoaned the lack of civilisation in the bucolic backwoods of Harris, the incomprehensible signposts (and language!).

Aware that my husband was mentally figuring out just which reaction all this junk was going to produce, I looked nicely sympathetic, storing it up to.................................

"And where are you off to this afternoon?" One asked as we rose.

"Well, I thought I'd take my husband to the Columban chapel in Northton. Nice to show him where my ancestors worshipped over a thousand years ago, before the Synod of Whitby spoiled it all."

They had to be told a bit of history, and took it in  good spirit.

Northton, looking over to Luskentyre

Lovely Northton, with the daisy road up to the chapel. It was my father's favourite spot, where he walked with my mother seventy years ago.

Well, I'll deal with the religious angle in the next breathtaking instalment.

"And where are you off to?" I asked the Americans.

Turned out his grandfather came from North Uist. They were going to spend a day there before returning to New York! I told them the natives were friendly.

The Daisy Road

Christine at the Chapel at Northton

These are happpy snaps. If anyone has better pics, please feel free to send them.

The religious history of the Islands is a very interesting one. I promise not to give you any sermons!