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.
Sunday, 31 December 2017
99 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.
Saturday, 16 September 2017
The Earl of Seaforth and the Dutch
In 1607, Stornoway was made a Burgh of Barony, a title the town held until 1975, when all burghs were abolished. In 1629, the Privy Council of Scotland met to consider a complaint from
the Commissioners of Burghs against Colin, the Earl of Seaforth - who was the landowner behind the Burgh of Barony that Stornoway was at the time. After the introductory paragraphs lauding the late King James (1566-1625) the record of the Privy Council states that:
In the Parliament held at Edinburgh in August 1621 it was ordained, conform to many Acts of preceding Parliaments "that no strangers nor others inhabitants within this kingdome sould packe or peill in anie place of the Yles outwith free burrowes nor transport anie forbiddin goods furth of the same," and they had hoped to have enjoyed the comfort and benefit of this Act. But "to their great greefe", Colin, Earl of Seafort, "who by his birth and place quhilk he halds in teh States sould have contributed his best helpes to the furtherance and reall executioun of the saids Acts of Parliament" being misled "with some suggesting insinuatiouns and projects ofstrangers, who ar ever bussie to pry in the secreits and mystereis of nighbourings estats where the hope of gayne is apparent, they have inculcat in his eares manie great hopes and projects of wealth and credits by erecting of a burgh int he Lewes and planting of a colonie of strangers thairin". He had proposed the scheme to his Majesty and obtained a signature thereupon, which the complainers have stopped, and the matter is thus in dependence before the Lords. But meanwhile the said Earl proceeds with the scheme "and hes drawin hither ane nomber of strangers who daylie resorts to and fra Holland to the Lewes and continent nixt adjacent, and hes caused thame be answered of all suche commoditieis as these bounds affoords, as anmelie with fishes an dbeeves, quhilks with the hyde and talloun with manie uthers commoditeis they transport to Holland". By this procedure "the Incountrie", which was formerly furnished with cattle from these parts is now disappointed thereof, so that few or none were obtainable in markets this year. Then some of the complainers' neighbours having, as they were wont to do, gone this year to the Isles for their ordinary commodities, such as "plaiding" and other things in which they traded, they all returned empthy, nothing being left for them, but all taken up by the said strangers; so that "the trade in these pairts, whilk wes ane verie important trade for the countrie, is lyke to be devolved in strangers hands, and the compleaners, who ar the subject tothe natives and subject to all the impositions in the countrie, a shaikin louse without handling or doing to the appearand wreacke and overthrow of thair famileis and undoing of thair shipping, quhilk they will be constrained to sell for laike of imployment". Charge having been given to the said Earl, and the pursuers compearing by David Aikinheid, provost, and the bailies and some of the COuncil of Edinburgh and Mr John Hay, their clerk, as prolocutor, and the defender also compairing and pleading that the Burghs have no standing in this case to pursue him, and that he is accountable to his Majestie only for any breach of the said Act, to which the Burghs replied that the Act was directly conceived in their favour and by its breach their liberties are wronged, the Lords find that he Burghs are "direct and competent parties and hes good interesse to compaleans upoun the breachs and violaioun of the said Act, and that the pane arysing upoun the breache thairof must redound and accresce to his Majestie". The pursuers having stated that they insisted only upon the breach of the Act since January 1628, and several reasons against the said complaint having been given in in writing by the defender, and considered, the Lords ordain the Earl of Seafort himself to observe the said Act in all points and to see that it receive due execution in his bounds, and that "nather he be himselffe nor his tennents packe nor peill in anie place of the Iles outwith free burrowes nor transport anie forbiddin goods furth of the same," as he will answer upon his highest charge and peril. And they remit the trial of the particular violations of the said Act to the Lords of Council and Session.
We certainly live in different times now! Export was banned by law in 1621. The Earl of Seaforth had been given leave to trade with the Low Countries by the late King James in person. That sovereign having passed away, the Earl's opponents saw the opportunity to reverse that permission. The language is slightly arcane, but in summary, the complainers feel that they are being deprived of goods and the revenue of the sale thereof within the country, and that the availability of goods is jeopardised. Always look at history through the eyes of the time, and four centuries ago was a very different time.
In the Parliament held at Edinburgh in August 1621 it was ordained, conform to many Acts of preceding Parliaments "that no strangers nor others inhabitants within this kingdome sould packe or peill in anie place of the Yles outwith free burrowes nor transport anie forbiddin goods furth of the same," and they had hoped to have enjoyed the comfort and benefit of this Act. But "to their great greefe", Colin, Earl of Seafort, "who by his birth and place quhilk he halds in teh States sould have contributed his best helpes to the furtherance and reall executioun of the saids Acts of Parliament" being misled "with some suggesting insinuatiouns and projects ofstrangers, who ar ever bussie to pry in the secreits and mystereis of nighbourings estats where the hope of gayne is apparent, they have inculcat in his eares manie great hopes and projects of wealth and credits by erecting of a burgh int he Lewes and planting of a colonie of strangers thairin". He had proposed the scheme to his Majesty and obtained a signature thereupon, which the complainers have stopped, and the matter is thus in dependence before the Lords. But meanwhile the said Earl proceeds with the scheme "and hes drawin hither ane nomber of strangers who daylie resorts to and fra Holland to the Lewes and continent nixt adjacent, and hes caused thame be answered of all suche commoditieis as these bounds affoords, as anmelie with fishes an dbeeves, quhilks with the hyde and talloun with manie uthers commoditeis they transport to Holland". By this procedure "the Incountrie", which was formerly furnished with cattle from these parts is now disappointed thereof, so that few or none were obtainable in markets this year. Then some of the complainers' neighbours having, as they were wont to do, gone this year to the Isles for their ordinary commodities, such as "plaiding" and other things in which they traded, they all returned empthy, nothing being left for them, but all taken up by the said strangers; so that "the trade in these pairts, whilk wes ane verie important trade for the countrie, is lyke to be devolved in strangers hands, and the compleaners, who ar the subject tothe natives and subject to all the impositions in the countrie, a shaikin louse without handling or doing to the appearand wreacke and overthrow of thair famileis and undoing of thair shipping, quhilk they will be constrained to sell for laike of imployment". Charge having been given to the said Earl, and the pursuers compearing by David Aikinheid, provost, and the bailies and some of the COuncil of Edinburgh and Mr John Hay, their clerk, as prolocutor, and the defender also compairing and pleading that the Burghs have no standing in this case to pursue him, and that he is accountable to his Majestie only for any breach of the said Act, to which the Burghs replied that the Act was directly conceived in their favour and by its breach their liberties are wronged, the Lords find that he Burghs are "direct and competent parties and hes good interesse to compaleans upoun the breachs and violaioun of the said Act, and that the pane arysing upoun the breache thairof must redound and accresce to his Majestie". The pursuers having stated that they insisted only upon the breach of the Act since January 1628, and several reasons against the said complaint having been given in in writing by the defender, and considered, the Lords ordain the Earl of Seafort himself to observe the said Act in all points and to see that it receive due execution in his bounds, and that "nather he be himselffe nor his tennents packe nor peill in anie place of the Iles outwith free burrowes nor transport anie forbiddin goods furth of the same," as he will answer upon his highest charge and peril. And they remit the trial of the particular violations of the said Act to the Lords of Council and Session.
We certainly live in different times now! Export was banned by law in 1621. The Earl of Seaforth had been given leave to trade with the Low Countries by the late King James in person. That sovereign having passed away, the Earl's opponents saw the opportunity to reverse that permission. The language is slightly arcane, but in summary, the complainers feel that they are being deprived of goods and the revenue of the sale thereof within the country, and that the availability of goods is jeopardised. Always look at history through the eyes of the time, and four centuries ago was a very different time.
Tuesday, 24 January 2017
Ruthin Castle
On 20 April 1917, the converted trawler HMT Ruthin Castle was torpedoed east of Middlesbrough. The 275 ton vessel went down with the loss of 9 hands. Her wreck was dived in 2003 by the late Carl Racey, and her bell was retrieved. One of the casualties came from Barra (James Galbraith), I give details:
Leading Deckhand JAMES GALBRAITH
Seumas Iain Néill Iain Mhóir
Son of Neil Galbraith, of Allasdale, Isle of Barra.
Last known address in Barra: Cleat
Service unit: Royal Naval Reserve, HMT Ruthin Castle
Service number: 882/SD
Date of death: 21 April 1917
Ship sunk by mine laid by UC-50 off Skinningrove, east of Middlesbrough
Interred: Tynemouth (Preston) Cemetery, C. C. 9583
Local memorial: Barra & Vatersay
The Castle Bell shop in Ruthin (North Wales) was in touch to say that they have the bell on display in their shop. They have very kindly shared these images of the display.
The below image shows the bell being retrieved from the sea in 2003
Leading Deckhand JAMES GALBRAITH
Seumas Iain Néill Iain Mhóir
Son of Neil Galbraith, of Allasdale, Isle of Barra.
Last known address in Barra: Cleat
Service unit: Royal Naval Reserve, HMT Ruthin Castle
Service number: 882/SD
Date of death: 21 April 1917
Ship sunk by mine laid by UC-50 off Skinningrove, east of Middlesbrough
Interred: Tynemouth (Preston) Cemetery, C. C. 9583
Local memorial: Barra & Vatersay
The Castle Bell shop in Ruthin (North Wales) was in touch to say that they have the bell on display in their shop. They have very kindly shared these images of the display.
The below image shows the bell being retrieved from the sea in 2003
Sunday, 1 January 2017
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.
98 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 2017, 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 2017, 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
98 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.
98 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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