The Western Isles

This is where I lived in the late 1960's.

A semi-derelict old croft house

no running water

no toilet

no kitchen.

We did have electricity, an electric cooker which gave shocks to the unwary

and an Elsan loo

so we had some of the comforts in life.

We were living in the Western Isles.

Lochganvich

almost smack bang in the centre of the Isle of Lewis.

The two low buildings were a byre and the barn

and

the room which passed for our kitchen

had a door leading straight into them.

Very handy.

I was 14 years old when we went to live on the island;

the first six months were spent living in Stornoway

later we rented a croft house in the same village as this place.

They were wonderful years.

Unfortunately for us, the family who had rented the first croft house to us

needed it back for themselves,

at short notice,

so Ivor, another local crofter,
offered us the use of this place

as a stop-gap.

It was barely habitable

but as it was only going to be for five or six months we took it,

gratefully.

The previous croft house

had seemed primitive when we first arrived

back in 1967

but compared to this one it was a luxury pad!

Our neighbours there were Old John and his wife Marion.

They took the arrival of this family of Sassenachs in their stride

and made us extremely welcome,

taking us under their wing.

Their croft was just a short walk across the field.

There was always a cup of tea and a 'strupak' to hand.

Usually this would be some Scotch Pancakes

freshly made by Marion

sometimes thickly buttered 

or
served with fresh crowdie

 made with cream from their cow.

I spent most of my spare time

with Marion or Old John.

Marion taught me how to milk the cow

and

 was always willing to let me tag along when she went out

to tend the other cattle

out on the croft.

Wellies on,  we'd tie our headscarves on tightly,

to try to combat the midges,

then off we would go.

Old John taught me to tend the sheep,

give them basic injections

shear them by hand 

help with rounding them up ready for dipping.

They were glorious days.

As a family we learned the art of digging the peat

cutting them to the right size so that

we could throw them out onto the bank

for drying

 and 

 stacking.

Marion taught us what we needed to know

and the whole village

included us in their

round of peat stacking

and stack building

evenings.

Thus ensuring that we had enough peat

to see us safely through the winters.

So many memories have come to the fore because I have been reading some of the

Lillian Beckwith books again,

they were my mother's copies,
I have had them since she died.

I recently managed to buy the Lillian Beckwith Hebridean Cookbook

for 1p (plus postage)
from a well known website.

Lillian Beckwith lived on an island in the Inner Hebrides

during the 1940/50's.   After that she went to live on the Isle of Man,

another island which holds a special place in my heart.

My elder son gave me a book about life on the Isle of Soay, for Christmas.

Soay just happens to be the island where Lillian Beckwith lived

during her time in the Hebrides.

Not quite the way most people remember the 1960's, perhaps.
Glorious, golden, memories.
(I hated the school though.   More of that another time.)