The year 1918 is drawing to a close and Big Ben in London is about to
start striking the midnight hour. Six hundred miles to the north, HMY Iolaire is
ploughing her way north through the Minch, passing between Raasay,
Rona and the Scottish mainland. The weather, which had been reasonable
upon departure from Kyle, is turning increasingly windy. A heavy swell
is beginning to rise in response to the strong southerly wind. The
lighthouses, which serve as reference points for mariners in the Minch,
blink their messages to Iolaire. Milaid, on the rocky cliffs
near Kebock Head; Rona; Tiumpan Head on the eastern extremity of the
Point Peninsula; and Arnish, near the entrance to Stornoway Harbour.
In dozens of houses in Lewis, glasses are charged to the New Year. The last year of war is ending. Dry
clothes are draped over beds, a stew is heating over the fire. In the
blackhouses in Ness, and the town houses of Stornoway. A kettle is at
the ready on the stove. A plate, cutlery and cups on the table. From
Eoropie to Brenish, from Lemreway to North Tolsta, and between Manor
Park and Newton, the same scene is repeated over and over. Only two
hours to go, the boat won't make Hogmanay. But it does not really
matter, the boys will be home soon.
The clock strikes midnight. It is 1919.
Saturday, 31 December 2016
98 years ago tonight
It is Hogmanay 1918, and the war has been over for seven weeks.
Survivors from the Western Front and the war at sea are flocking home.
As are hundreds of sailors from the Highlands and Islands of Scotland.
Three trains pull into the harbourside station at Kyle of Lochalsh, and
hundreds pour onto the platform and adjoining quayside to join a ferry
home. The Skye men can take the short hop to Kyleakin, or join the
steamer north to Portree. The sailors and soldiers from the Outer
Hebrides have a longer journey ahead of them.
The mailsteamer for Stornoway, the Sheila is alongside at Kyle, but it very rapidly becomes clear that she has nowhere near enough space to accommodate the hundreds that want to go home to Lewis and Harris. So, a cable is sent to the naval base at Stornoway, and Rear Admiral Boyle sends HMY Iolaire to Kyle to relieve the congestion. Iolaire, the former private steamyacht Amalthea, arrives in the early evening, bumping into the pier as she docks.
A disorganised scramble occurs, where the throng of men divides between the Sheila and the Iolaire. No record is kept as to who goes on board which vessel. Some start off by boarding the Iolaire, then switch to the Sheila. Others do the reverse swap. Finally, at half past seven, Iolaire casts off and heads north. The Sheila follows suit in short order.
The mailsteamer for Stornoway, the Sheila is alongside at Kyle, but it very rapidly becomes clear that she has nowhere near enough space to accommodate the hundreds that want to go home to Lewis and Harris. So, a cable is sent to the naval base at Stornoway, and Rear Admiral Boyle sends HMY Iolaire to Kyle to relieve the congestion. Iolaire, the former private steamyacht Amalthea, arrives in the early evening, bumping into the pier as she docks.
A disorganised scramble occurs, where the throng of men divides between the Sheila and the Iolaire. No record is kept as to who goes on board which vessel. Some start off by boarding the Iolaire, then switch to the Sheila. Others do the reverse swap. Finally, at half past seven, Iolaire casts off and heads north. The Sheila follows suit in short order.
Sunday, 4 December 2016
Medals
The following information was submitted by a reader of the Lewismen in Canadian Service website, regarding Donald Smith, of 11 Aird Tong. The Roll of Honour says he was wounded twice, but that must have been a mistake.
Donald enlisted with the 94th Battalion, Fort William, Ontario (Canada) on 10 Jan 1916. Arriving in England he was transferred to the 43rd (Cameron Highlanders of Winnipeg) Battalion in France. He was decorated twice.
Distinguished Conduct Medal
Deed of Action
198766 Sergeant Donald Smith
43rd Battalion
For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty throughout forty hour's continuous fighting on 27th and 28 August 1918 near Vis-en-Artois, involving two attacks and repeated enemy counter-attacks. He was in the thick of the fighting, accounting for five of the enemy and setting a fine aggressive example to his men.
(Authority: London Gazette number 31726, dated 10 January, 1920)
Bar to Distinguished Conduct Medal
Deed of Action
198766 Sergeant Donald Smith
43rd Battalion
In the attack through Tilloy on the 1st Oct. 1918, he single-handed captured an enemy machine-gun crew and getting the gun in action, inflicted many casualties on the enemy. Later on he took charge of two platoons after they had lost their officers, and by his gallant leadership enabled them to take their objectives and consolidate their positions. When the enemy succeeded in penetrating one post he single-handed drove them out, killing fire and taking seven prisoners. he showed splendid gallantry and initiative.
(Authority: London Gazette number 31668, dated 2 December, 1919)
Donald enlisted with the 94th Battalion, Fort William, Ontario (Canada) on 10 Jan 1916. Arriving in England he was transferred to the 43rd (Cameron Highlanders of Winnipeg) Battalion in France. He was decorated twice.
Distinguished Conduct Medal
Deed of Action
198766 Sergeant Donald Smith
43rd Battalion
For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty throughout forty hour's continuous fighting on 27th and 28 August 1918 near Vis-en-Artois, involving two attacks and repeated enemy counter-attacks. He was in the thick of the fighting, accounting for five of the enemy and setting a fine aggressive example to his men.
(Authority: London Gazette number 31726, dated 10 January, 1920)
Bar to Distinguished Conduct Medal
Deed of Action
198766 Sergeant Donald Smith
43rd Battalion
In the attack through Tilloy on the 1st Oct. 1918, he single-handed captured an enemy machine-gun crew and getting the gun in action, inflicted many casualties on the enemy. Later on he took charge of two platoons after they had lost their officers, and by his gallant leadership enabled them to take their objectives and consolidate their positions. When the enemy succeeded in penetrating one post he single-handed drove them out, killing fire and taking seven prisoners. he showed splendid gallantry and initiative.
(Authority: London Gazette number 31668, dated 2 December, 1919)
Thursday, 4 August 2016
A tale of two Donalds
On 9 June 1888, Annie Macleod, living in the village of Knock, Point (in Lewis), gave birth to another child, Donald. He was the sixth, and not the last child. Two more followed, and by the start of 1894, eight children, varying in ages from 1 to 15 years, crowded into the dwelling. It drove the father, Hector, to distraction, to such an extent that he ended his life in September that year. Three months later, Annie also passed away.
The eight youngsters were taken into the care of the Quarrier Homes in Glasgow, and emigrated to Canada two years later.
Donald signed up for the Canadian Expeditionary Force at Calgary in October 1914, and was injured during the Battle of the Somme. He was transferred to War Hospital at Napsbury, where he passed away on 4 August 1916, at 9.45pm.
Due to an error in the paperwork, his remains were transferred to Benbecula, rather than Lewis, and the next-of-kin notified. The next of kin was thought to be Alex Macleod of Gramsdale, but when Alex came to the quayside at Peter Port in Benbecula, he did not recognise the dead man as his son. Nobody came to claim the soldier's remains, so the authorities interred it at Nunton, Benbecula, after a week. Donald Macleod, son of Alex, was alive, also serving with the Canadian Forces, and under a service number that only differed from the Lewis man by one digit. The Benbecula Donald Macleod was 79119, the Lewis man was 79110. Donald Macleod, Gramsdale, lived until 1952.
It has taken a century for this mystery to be cleared up. This morning, three islanders stood by Donald's grave in Nunton Cemetery, and remembered his sacrifice. I did so from 64 miles away in Stornoway.
The eight youngsters were taken into the care of the Quarrier Homes in Glasgow, and emigrated to Canada two years later.
Donald signed up for the Canadian Expeditionary Force at Calgary in October 1914, and was injured during the Battle of the Somme. He was transferred to War Hospital at Napsbury, where he passed away on 4 August 1916, at 9.45pm.
Due to an error in the paperwork, his remains were transferred to Benbecula, rather than Lewis, and the next-of-kin notified. The next of kin was thought to be Alex Macleod of Gramsdale, but when Alex came to the quayside at Peter Port in Benbecula, he did not recognise the dead man as his son. Nobody came to claim the soldier's remains, so the authorities interred it at Nunton, Benbecula, after a week. Donald Macleod, son of Alex, was alive, also serving with the Canadian Forces, and under a service number that only differed from the Lewis man by one digit. The Benbecula Donald Macleod was 79119, the Lewis man was 79110. Donald Macleod, Gramsdale, lived until 1952.
It has taken a century for this mystery to be cleared up. This morning, three islanders stood by Donald's grave in Nunton Cemetery, and remembered his sacrifice. I did so from 64 miles away in Stornoway.
Sunday, 15 May 2016
Centenary 2016
The sister blog to Pentland Road, Centenary of Sacrifice, has been running for nearly two years now, and will mention the names of the losses from the islands in both battles on May 31st and July 1st - and beyond.
Lest we forget
Friday, 1 January 2016
The Iolaire Story
This is the full story, as told on this blog in five parts between 6pm on December 31st and 9am on January 1st.
It is Hogmanay 1918, and the war has been over for seven weeks. Survivors from the Western Front and the war at sea are flocking home. As are hundreds of sailors from the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. Three trains pull into the harbourside station at Kyle of Lochalsh, and hundreds pour onto the platform and adjoining quayside to join a ferry home. The Skye men can take the short hop to Kyleakin, or join the steamer north to Portree. The sailors and soldiers from the Outer Hebrides have a longer journey ahead of them.
The mailsteamer for Stornoway, the Sheila is alongside at Kyle, but it very rapidly becomes clear that she has nowhere near enough space to accommodate the hundreds that want to go home to Lewis and Harris. So, a cable is sent to the naval base at Stornoway, and Rear Admiral Boyle sends HMY Iolaire to Kyle to relieve the congestion. Iolaire, the former private steamyacht Amalthea arrives in the early evening, bumping into the pier as she docks.
A disorganised scramble occurs, where the throng of men divides between the Sheila and the Iolaire. No record is kept as to who goes on board which vessel. Some start off by boarding the Iolaire, then switch to the Sheila. Others do the reverse swap. Finally, at half past seven, Iolaire casts off and heads north. The Sheila follows suit in short order.
The year 1918 is drawing to a close and Big Ben in London is about to start striking the midnight hour. Six hundred miles to the north, HMY Iolaire is ploughing her way north through the Minch, passing between Raasay, Rona and the Scottish mainland. The weather, which had been reasonable upon departure from Kyle, is turning increasingly windy. A heavy swell is beginning to rise in response to the strong southerly wind. The lighthouses, which serve as reference points for mariners in the Minch, blink their messages to Iolaire. Milaid, on the rocky cliffs near Kebock Head; Rona; Tiumpan Head on the eastern extremity of the Point Peninsula; and Arnish, near the entrance to Stornoway Harbour.
In dozens of houses in Lewis, glasses are charged to the New Year. The last year of war is ending.
Dry clothes are draped over beds, a stew is heating over the fire. In the blackhouses in Ness, and the town houses of Stornoway. A kettle is at the ready on the stove. A plate, cutlery and cups on the table. From Eoropie to Brenish, from Lemreway to North Tolsta, and between Manor Park and Newton, the same scene is repeated over and over. Only two hours to go, the boat won't make Hogmanay. But it does not really matter, the boys will be home soon.
The clock strikes midnight. It is 1919.
Conditions in the Minch are now poor, and all on board Iolaire are glad that the journey is nearly over. The passengers, most of them familiar with the passage to Stornoway, are snoozing their way, lulled to slumber by the steady if roughish motion of the waves that Iolaire rides. The captain goes down below to rest, his second-in-command takes over on the bridge. A fishing boat is also on its way home to Stornoway, and is running a broadly parallel course to Iolaire.
The passengers can now see the lights of Stornoway ahead, as well as the familiar signal of the Arnish Lighthouse and its secondary beacon. All begin to stir and start to prepare for disembarkation, which is now only about a quarter of or half an hour away. But all is not well. The sound of waves striking shore becomes audible over the noise of wind and swell.
The next noise is a far greater one. Iolaire changes course abruptly, as the crew realise they have overshot the harbour entrance. But it is too late. At 1.55 am, the ship comes to a crashing halt on the rocks of the Beasts of Holm.
Iolaire was mortally damaged by her grounding, and would eventually slip from the rocks and sink into the depths beside the Beasts of Holm. Only her mast would be left showing above the waves.
Flares were let off, which were spotted by the fishing boat and the Sheila, which were running into Stornoway behind Iolaire. Conditions, however, were too severe for any direct help to be offered by any vessel, as they would place themselves into severe danger. One intrepid man managed to bring a hawser ashore, which was to become a literal lifeline for nearly four dozen souls. Others attempted to use the lifeboats, which were almost immediately swamped by the heavy swell, or smashed on the rocks nearby. For Iolaire only grounded about 50 yards from shore. Those who jumped into the sea drowned almost at once, or were smashed onto the rocks, left lifeless. A life-saving apparatus, a breeches' buoy, which had been brought from Stornoway, came way too late to be useful.
Some of those that survived made their way to Stoneyfield Farm, about half a mile from the scene of Iolaire's sinking, and their terrible news was relayed to Stornoway. The flares had been spotted from the town, but had been (mis)taken for celebratory rockets.
The houses waited. The stew over the fire, the teapot on the stove. The clothes on the bed, and the made up table. The families, friends and other islanders waited. Then news filtered through into, and from Stornoway. The Iolaire was lost. Several dozen had been saved. But so many more were not. A night of terrifying uncertainty drew on. Would he be among the saved?
It is early January, and daylight is still many hours away.
It is just after 9 o'clock, and the sun rises over the mountains of mainland Scotland. Its light sweeps west, and shows up a ship's mast protruding from the sea, only a few dozen yards from the shore of Holm Point. The figure of a man can be made out, as he holds on for dear life. As he has done for nigh upon seven hours. Others had been with him, but their strength had given out, and had fallen into the sea below. The man is saved from his precarious position. He had been one of about three hundred on board Iolaire who had left Kyle the evening before, expecting to arrive in Stornoway at 2 am. Instead, two hundred would never return home, and some sixty would never be retrieved.
A gruesome sight presented itself on the shores, beaches and rocky outcrops of eastern Lewis, around the bay of Stornoway. East to Knock, north to Sandwick and Stornoway, south to Grimshader. One hundred and forty bobbed on the tide, lost in the Iolaire. Those that could be retrieved were taken to the naval base at the Battery in Stornoway, to be identified and collected by family.
Those who had not yet had news of the tragedy would soon receive it, as elders of the church went round, the bearers of the news of loss. A brother, a father. An uncle, a nephew. A son, a cousin. No village was spared. No family who was not directly or indirectly affected. The stories abound, but are not readily told.
A dawn has broken on a new year. In 2009, several hundred gathered at the little memorial at Holm Point to remember. It was a beautiful mild winter's day, with not a breath of wind. We looked south, across the Minch, where the jagged humps of the Shiants, the distant lines of Skye, and on a day of exceptional clarity, even the hills behind Kyle can be made out, 75 miles away. In this day and age, a short journey. In 1919, a journey that was never completed by two hundred and five souls.
Rest in peace.
A full listing of names can be found here
Postscript
The exact cause for the foundering of HMY Iolaire has never been fully cleared up, and theories abound. There are accusations of a cover-up by the Royal Navy, drunkenness on the part of the crew, and speculation on the factors played by the weather. It is not the object of this blog to apportion blame, or determine the exact cause for the tragedy. This is a tribute to the two hundred and five who perished at the Beasts of Holm that New Year's night in 1919.
It is Hogmanay 1918, and the war has been over for seven weeks. Survivors from the Western Front and the war at sea are flocking home. As are hundreds of sailors from the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. Three trains pull into the harbourside station at Kyle of Lochalsh, and hundreds pour onto the platform and adjoining quayside to join a ferry home. The Skye men can take the short hop to Kyleakin, or join the steamer north to Portree. The sailors and soldiers from the Outer Hebrides have a longer journey ahead of them.
The mailsteamer for Stornoway, the Sheila is alongside at Kyle, but it very rapidly becomes clear that she has nowhere near enough space to accommodate the hundreds that want to go home to Lewis and Harris. So, a cable is sent to the naval base at Stornoway, and Rear Admiral Boyle sends HMY Iolaire to Kyle to relieve the congestion. Iolaire, the former private steamyacht Amalthea arrives in the early evening, bumping into the pier as she docks.
A disorganised scramble occurs, where the throng of men divides between the Sheila and the Iolaire. No record is kept as to who goes on board which vessel. Some start off by boarding the Iolaire, then switch to the Sheila. Others do the reverse swap. Finally, at half past seven, Iolaire casts off and heads north. The Sheila follows suit in short order.
The year 1918 is drawing to a close and Big Ben in London is about to start striking the midnight hour. Six hundred miles to the north, HMY Iolaire is ploughing her way north through the Minch, passing between Raasay, Rona and the Scottish mainland. The weather, which had been reasonable upon departure from Kyle, is turning increasingly windy. A heavy swell is beginning to rise in response to the strong southerly wind. The lighthouses, which serve as reference points for mariners in the Minch, blink their messages to Iolaire. Milaid, on the rocky cliffs near Kebock Head; Rona; Tiumpan Head on the eastern extremity of the Point Peninsula; and Arnish, near the entrance to Stornoway Harbour.
In dozens of houses in Lewis, glasses are charged to the New Year. The last year of war is ending.
Dry clothes are draped over beds, a stew is heating over the fire. In the blackhouses in Ness, and the town houses of Stornoway. A kettle is at the ready on the stove. A plate, cutlery and cups on the table. From Eoropie to Brenish, from Lemreway to North Tolsta, and between Manor Park and Newton, the same scene is repeated over and over. Only two hours to go, the boat won't make Hogmanay. But it does not really matter, the boys will be home soon.
The clock strikes midnight. It is 1919.
Conditions in the Minch are now poor, and all on board Iolaire are glad that the journey is nearly over. The passengers, most of them familiar with the passage to Stornoway, are snoozing their way, lulled to slumber by the steady if roughish motion of the waves that Iolaire rides. The captain goes down below to rest, his second-in-command takes over on the bridge. A fishing boat is also on its way home to Stornoway, and is running a broadly parallel course to Iolaire.
The passengers can now see the lights of Stornoway ahead, as well as the familiar signal of the Arnish Lighthouse and its secondary beacon. All begin to stir and start to prepare for disembarkation, which is now only about a quarter of or half an hour away. But all is not well. The sound of waves striking shore becomes audible over the noise of wind and swell.
The next noise is a far greater one. Iolaire changes course abruptly, as the crew realise they have overshot the harbour entrance. But it is too late. At 1.55 am, the ship comes to a crashing halt on the rocks of the Beasts of Holm.
Iolaire was mortally damaged by her grounding, and would eventually slip from the rocks and sink into the depths beside the Beasts of Holm. Only her mast would be left showing above the waves.
Flares were let off, which were spotted by the fishing boat and the Sheila, which were running into Stornoway behind Iolaire. Conditions, however, were too severe for any direct help to be offered by any vessel, as they would place themselves into severe danger. One intrepid man managed to bring a hawser ashore, which was to become a literal lifeline for nearly four dozen souls. Others attempted to use the lifeboats, which were almost immediately swamped by the heavy swell, or smashed on the rocks nearby. For Iolaire only grounded about 50 yards from shore. Those who jumped into the sea drowned almost at once, or were smashed onto the rocks, left lifeless. A life-saving apparatus, a breeches' buoy, which had been brought from Stornoway, came way too late to be useful.
Some of those that survived made their way to Stoneyfield Farm, about half a mile from the scene of Iolaire's sinking, and their terrible news was relayed to Stornoway. The flares had been spotted from the town, but had been (mis)taken for celebratory rockets.
The houses waited. The stew over the fire, the teapot on the stove. The clothes on the bed, and the made up table. The families, friends and other islanders waited. Then news filtered through into, and from Stornoway. The Iolaire was lost. Several dozen had been saved. But so many more were not. A night of terrifying uncertainty drew on. Would he be among the saved?
It is early January, and daylight is still many hours away.
It is just after 9 o'clock, and the sun rises over the mountains of mainland Scotland. Its light sweeps west, and shows up a ship's mast protruding from the sea, only a few dozen yards from the shore of Holm Point. The figure of a man can be made out, as he holds on for dear life. As he has done for nigh upon seven hours. Others had been with him, but their strength had given out, and had fallen into the sea below. The man is saved from his precarious position. He had been one of about three hundred on board Iolaire who had left Kyle the evening before, expecting to arrive in Stornoway at 2 am. Instead, two hundred would never return home, and some sixty would never be retrieved.
A gruesome sight presented itself on the shores, beaches and rocky outcrops of eastern Lewis, around the bay of Stornoway. East to Knock, north to Sandwick and Stornoway, south to Grimshader. One hundred and forty bobbed on the tide, lost in the Iolaire. Those that could be retrieved were taken to the naval base at the Battery in Stornoway, to be identified and collected by family.
Those who had not yet had news of the tragedy would soon receive it, as elders of the church went round, the bearers of the news of loss. A brother, a father. An uncle, a nephew. A son, a cousin. No village was spared. No family who was not directly or indirectly affected. The stories abound, but are not readily told.
A dawn has broken on a new year. In 2009, several hundred gathered at the little memorial at Holm Point to remember. It was a beautiful mild winter's day, with not a breath of wind. We looked south, across the Minch, where the jagged humps of the Shiants, the distant lines of Skye, and on a day of exceptional clarity, even the hills behind Kyle can be made out, 75 miles away. In this day and age, a short journey. In 1919, a journey that was never completed by two hundred and five souls.
Rest in peace.
A full listing of names can be found here
Postscript
The exact cause for the foundering of HMY Iolaire has never been fully cleared up, and theories abound. There are accusations of a cover-up by the Royal Navy, drunkenness on the part of the crew, and speculation on the factors played by the weather. It is not the object of this blog to apportion blame, or determine the exact cause for the tragedy. This is a tribute to the two hundred and five who perished at the Beasts of Holm that New Year's night in 1919.
97 years ago today - 09:10
It is just after 9 o'clock, and the sun rises over the mountains of
mainland Scotland. Its light sweeps west, and shows up a ship's mast
protruding from the sea, only a few dozen yards from the shore of Holm
Point. The figure of a man can be made out, as he holds on for dear
life. As he has done for nigh upon seven hours. Others had been with
him, but their strength had given out, and had fallen into the sea
below. The man is saved from his precarious position. He had been one of
about three hundred on board Iolaire who had left Kyle the
evening before, expecting to arrive in Stornoway at 2 am. Instead, two
hundred would never return home, and some sixty would never be
retrieved.
A gruesome sight presented itself on the shores, beaches and rocky outcrops of eastern Lewis, around the bay of Stornoway. East to Knock, north to Sandwick and Stornoway, south to Grimshader. One hundred and forty bobbed on the tide, lost in the Iolaire. Those that could be retrieved were taken to the naval base at the Battery in Stornoway, to be identified and collected by family.
Those who had not yet had news of the tragedy would soon receive it, as elders of the church went round, the bearers of the news of loss. A brother, a father. An uncle, a nephew. A son, a cousin. No village was spared. No family who was not directly or indirectly affected. The stories abound, but are not readily told.
It is 2016, and dawn has broken on a new year. Seven years ago, several hundred gathered at the little memorial at Holm Point to remember. It was a beautiful mild winter's day, with not a breath of wind. We looked south, across the Minch, where the jagged humps of the Shiants, the distant lines of Skye, and on a day of exceptional clarity, even the hills behind Kyle can be made out, 75 miles away. In this day and age, a short journey. In 1919, a journey that was never completed by two hundred and five souls.
Rest in peace.
A full listing of names can be found here
A gruesome sight presented itself on the shores, beaches and rocky outcrops of eastern Lewis, around the bay of Stornoway. East to Knock, north to Sandwick and Stornoway, south to Grimshader. One hundred and forty bobbed on the tide, lost in the Iolaire. Those that could be retrieved were taken to the naval base at the Battery in Stornoway, to be identified and collected by family.
Those who had not yet had news of the tragedy would soon receive it, as elders of the church went round, the bearers of the news of loss. A brother, a father. An uncle, a nephew. A son, a cousin. No village was spared. No family who was not directly or indirectly affected. The stories abound, but are not readily told.
It is 2016, and dawn has broken on a new year. Seven years ago, several hundred gathered at the little memorial at Holm Point to remember. It was a beautiful mild winter's day, with not a breath of wind. We looked south, across the Minch, where the jagged humps of the Shiants, the distant lines of Skye, and on a day of exceptional clarity, even the hills behind Kyle can be made out, 75 miles away. In this day and age, a short journey. In 1919, a journey that was never completed by two hundred and five souls.
Rest in peace.
A full listing of names can be found here
97 years ago tonight - 03:00
Iolaire was mortally damaged by her grounding, and would
eventually slip from the rocks and sink into the depths beside the
Beasts of Holm. Only her mast would be left showing above the waves.
Flares were let off, which were spotted by the fishing boat and the Sheila, which were running into Stornoway behind Iolaire. Conditions, however, were too severe for any direct help to be offered by any vessel, as they would place themselves into severe danger. One intrepid man managed to bring a hawser ashore, which was to become a literal lifeline for nearly four dozen souls. Others attempted to use the lifeboats, which were almost immediately swamped by the heavy swell, or smashed on the rocks nearby. For Iolaire only grounded about 50 yards from shore. Those who jumped into the sea drowned almost at once, or were smashed onto the rocks, left lifeless. A life-saving apparatus, a breeches' buoy, which had been brought from Stornoway, came way too late to be useful.
Some of those that survived made their way to Stoneyfield Farm, about half a mile from the scene of Iolaire's sinking, and their terrible news was relayed to Stornoway. The flares had been spotted from the town, but had been (mis)taken for celebratory rockets.
The houses waited. The stew over the fire, the teapot on the stove. The clothes on the bed, and the made up table. The families, friends and other islanders waited. Then news filtered through into, and from Stornoway. The Iolaire was lost. Several dozen had been saved. But so many more were not. A night of terrifying uncertainty drew on. Would he be among the saved?
It is early January, and daylight is still many hours away.
To be continued.
Flares were let off, which were spotted by the fishing boat and the Sheila, which were running into Stornoway behind Iolaire. Conditions, however, were too severe for any direct help to be offered by any vessel, as they would place themselves into severe danger. One intrepid man managed to bring a hawser ashore, which was to become a literal lifeline for nearly four dozen souls. Others attempted to use the lifeboats, which were almost immediately swamped by the heavy swell, or smashed on the rocks nearby. For Iolaire only grounded about 50 yards from shore. Those who jumped into the sea drowned almost at once, or were smashed onto the rocks, left lifeless. A life-saving apparatus, a breeches' buoy, which had been brought from Stornoway, came way too late to be useful.
Some of those that survived made their way to Stoneyfield Farm, about half a mile from the scene of Iolaire's sinking, and their terrible news was relayed to Stornoway. The flares had been spotted from the town, but had been (mis)taken for celebratory rockets.
The houses waited. The stew over the fire, the teapot on the stove. The clothes on the bed, and the made up table. The families, friends and other islanders waited. Then news filtered through into, and from Stornoway. The Iolaire was lost. Several dozen had been saved. But so many more were not. A night of terrifying uncertainty drew on. Would he be among the saved?
It is early January, and daylight is still many hours away.
To be continued.
97 years ago tonight - 01:55
Conditions in the Minch are now poor, and all on board Iolaire are
glad that the journey is nearly over. The passengers, most of them
familiar with the passage to Stornoway, are snoozing their way, lulled
to slumber by the steady if roughish motion of the waves that Iolaire rides.
The captain goes down below to rest, his second-in-command takes over
on the bridge. A fishing boat is also on its way home to Stornoway, and
is running a broadly parallel course to Iolaire.
The passengers can now see the lights of Stornoway ahead, as well as the familiar signal of the Arnish Lighthouse and its secondary beacon. All begin to stir and start to prepare for disembarkation, which is now only about a quarter of or half an hour away. But all is not well. The sound of waves striking shore becomes audible over the noise of wind and swell.
The next noise is a far greater one. Iolaire changes course abruptly, as the crew realise they have overshot the harbour entrance. But it is too late. At 1.55 am, the ship comes to a crashing halt on the rocks of the Beasts of Holm.
The passengers can now see the lights of Stornoway ahead, as well as the familiar signal of the Arnish Lighthouse and its secondary beacon. All begin to stir and start to prepare for disembarkation, which is now only about a quarter of or half an hour away. But all is not well. The sound of waves striking shore becomes audible over the noise of wind and swell.
The next noise is a far greater one. Iolaire changes course abruptly, as the crew realise they have overshot the harbour entrance. But it is too late. At 1.55 am, the ship comes to a crashing halt on the rocks of the Beasts of Holm.
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