Riddoch on the Outer Hebrides by Lesley Riddoch sampler

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iddoch on the outer hebrides Tuppence Worth by Maxwell MacLeod A few weeks before my late father’s death at 96 I was sitting talking nonsense to him, as you do. The nonsense was largely an exchange of family stories, short ones, that we both knew and loved. He was a darling man and it wasn’t an easy time for either of us. Eventually I tossed him a juicy worm, knowing he would gobble it up and respond with an absolute corker. ‘So, Father, you have walked this road of life before me. What’s your advice on life’s great journey?’ It was a question he had asked his own father in exactly the same situation half a century earlier. The old boy grinned gratefully for the opportunity to perform and set off on his riff. ‘Funny you should ask me that. I remember asking my own father the same question, and he replied that after a long life he had come to only three conclusions. That it is never wise to cross a fence with a loaded gun, stand up in a small boat, or do business west of Crianlarich – and I agree, I agree!’ Lord how he laughed. I tell you this because of that last line. ‘Never do business west of Crianlarich.’ Now Crianlarich lies in the middle of Scotland – so my father was suggesting that everything that takes place on the Hebridean Islands is a ridiculous waste of time. The particular perversity of that remark needs a bit of explanation. My family have lived on the Hebrides for at least four hundred years, quite possibly twice that. My cousins still live in the house in Skye that we came from in 1777. I still have the house in Morvern that we lived in next. 10
tuppence worth My father, Lord George MacLeod of Fuinary, gave much of his life and money to leading the restoration of the Hebridean Cathedral on Iona, mostly using volunteer labour. He had, in fact, thrown away the family fortune by investing west of Crianlarich. Though I don’t begrudge him a penny. Part of his motivation for that endeavour was wanting young people to become immersed in the experience of working alongside Gaelic stonemasons on high scaffolds as they sang work songs, told tales in the evening of their love of nature and their lack of materialistic ambition, and then crooned exquisite songs, some of them written when Napoleon was but a child. So that was the great side of the Gaelic culture. But there was another side too. All his life George had had to fight against miserable, thrawn folk in the islands who were also Gaels and for whom cynicism or drunkenness were ways of life. Indeed, when I once asked him where he wanted to be buried he had replied: ‘Anywhere but Iona.’ Any honest book about the islands must explore the same dangerous territory without painting Gaels as heroes or villains – they are people… with stories. Storytelling, and this book is largely a collection of stories, is a vital part of our culture. It’s how we remind each other of who we are, and of the great truths and mysteries. The truths of Hebridean culture are becoming harder to swallow with each passing generation. The next will not know the culture that has cradled the islands for over a thousand years. If such cultural genocide had happened to the Inuit or the Aborigines, every child in Britain would know about it. As it is, there is hardly a child in the land who could point to Uist on the map, or say a word in Gaelic, though most can parrot a dozen words in French or German. But does it matter a damn? Well, apart from warning me not to invest west of Crianlarich, my father would also observe with a sigh, ‘The Gaelic culture is dying and I sometimes want to mourn it, and sometimes am greatly relieved.’ So when my friend of 30 years Lesley <strong>Riddoch</strong> phoned to ask if I would accompany her on a journey up the Western Isles, I said yes without checking my diary. Anything that was in that diary would have to be cancelled. I would just tell folk the truth and they would understand. I agreed for two reasons. Firstly, because I love the woman, and by that I mean that I have an abiding passion for her. She has such conviction and fire for what she does that I admire her very deeply, and yet she is sometimes simultaneously so vulnerable and idiotic that it inspires a deep compassion in me and I also want to protect her. We irritate each other almost constantly. We also enjoy each other’s company. God knows why, but we do. Several times during our intensely busy two weeks together on our island venture I seriously considered abandoning her and I know that the 11
Page 1: Well-informed, well-observed, provo
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Page 7 and 8: Contents Preface to the 2022 Editio
Page 9 and 10: Preface to 2022 Edition It’s 15 y
Page 11: Foreword Lesley Riddoch</st
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Riddoch on the Outer Hebrides by Lesley Riddoch sampler

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