0 - Eureka Street

L , LANDLADY AT MY B&B h•d gwen
ot th;, • nd I w"n't 'm' how to D'tenU·
tiously go for a walk anyway. It would be
some hours before food became available
so I thought I might get in my hire car and
find some 'rambling' territory.
Roads on the Isle of Lewis are generally
one-and-a-bit lanes wide. Pile-ups are pre-
vented by 'passing places'. I followed the
custom of waving when someone pulled
into one to let me through. You can tell
how tired a person is by the extent of their
wave. A driver who has come up the long
ribbon road from South Uist will barely
raise the pinkie. I'd learned to appreciate
this roadway connection though today
there were only a few cars ferrying pea-
ple home from church. The traditionalism
of the Outer Hebrides is sometimes ridi-
culed on the Scottish mainland but at least
on Sundays Hebrideans are years ahead
in
A
car-pooling. Most were packed to the
roof and I enjoyed the communal
sense this gave to the day.
me the low-down on everything I shouldn't
do. Quite a list, including some things I'd
have thought were necessary to life. A pub
that would open mid-afternoon for 'lunch'
was a recent innovation. Otherwise no
shopping, no port, no music, no work not
of 'necessity and mercy', no being outdoors
for no good reason. No canoodling either.
This was Stornoway, soul of the Outer
Hebrides, and Sundays were not to be
trifled with.
Saturday night had not been wild, but
a few rowdy drunks had milled around
the town's latest-opening bar. In contrast,
everyone I met the next morning was well
dressed and carrying a Bible. They smiled
at each other and at me. I made my way to
the local Free Church, as recommended by
my landlady. I was half-expecting a tirade
on social issues. But although the tone
of the sermon was admonishing, and we
learned that 'even the smallest sin is worth
a crucifixion', the minister was calm and
poetic. His words drew out effortlessly in
the respectful silence, filling a plain but
elegant wooden nave.
Looking about the congregation I was
surprised how many were women on their
own. I was later told they were a mix of
singles and ladies whose partners were
not churchgoers. I was more surprised at
the number of people asleep, especially on
the upper floor, heads on the back of pews,
mouths agape. When the minister began
to sing, in a sonorous vibrato, they awoke
with a rush.
Immediately after the service the
socialising began in earnest. The minister
laughed and joked with the parishioners
he'd been admonishing moments earlier.
The single women mingled. For people
from outlying villages, this was the social
event of the week.
A fortnight before, a friend in Edinburgh
had warned me that even 'going for
a walk' might be frowned on, at least if I
did it 'ostentatiously'. My landlady scoffed
hoh d,1 "
Martin Elliott
Sundays in Stornoway
Locals might find it boring, but this visitor to the Outer Hebrides
found more than enough to make the sabbath special
NOTHER FEATURE OF island life is the
almost unnerving im.print of early humans.
I'd spent much time searching for neolithic
sites, buying books on neolithic sites, and
photographing neolithic sites. When I
turned into a gravel lane and stopped, ready
to ramble, I wondered if I'd find more.
A farmer was standing outside his
gate. With instant 'I've never lived in
London' friendliness, he asked if he might
accompany me. As it happened, he was
an expert on neolithic sites. It felt like
a documentary, where local historians
materialise whenever the presenter asks
a rhetorical question.
He showed me some recently uncovered
graves on the beach behind his croft. 'No
one except the archaeologists knows about
them yet,' he confided. I didn't tell him I
worked for a 24-hour news channel.
I asked him what he thought of Sun-
days. 'Dull. You can't do anything. I
used to work in the fields but the neigh-
bours gave me a hard time about it.' He'd
stopped going to church years ago. One
neighbour continued to give him a hard
time about that.
We drove to some standing stone , picking
up along the way two of his friends,
who were also bored. They confessed that
they had been walking along the road in
the hope of meeting someone. The farmer
admitted he had been standing outside his
gate for the same reason. 'Bloody Sundays.
Must be hard for a tourist'
When I returned to Stornoway I felt
the observation of the sabbath had been
attraction enough in itself. The next day
the shops would be open again, the traffic
would be more than it should be for a town
of 6000 and rowdy drunks would spill from
the late-opening bar.
My landlady, who had spent the day
weaving a tapestry, welcomed me into the
sitting room. How did she feel about Sunday
'Without it, there'd be no difference.
Every day would be the same.' Did she
feel that obedience to the rules was waning
'Yes, but it will be a shame if it goes
altogether. You've got six days to do everything.
Surely you can have one day off.' I
thought I could drink to that.
•
Martin Elliott is a freelance writer living
in Melbourne.
OVEMBER-DECEMBER 2005 EUREKA STREET 37