The Wick riot which took place in August 1859 between Lewis fishermen and East coast fishermen was a ‘free for all’ that lasted a whole week.  Although perhaps relations between East Coast fishermen and Hebridean fishermen may not have been too good, it was a dispute between two lads over an apple, a lad from Wick and one from Lewis that started the “Sabaid Mor”

Police apprehended the 14 year old Lewis lad, Malcolm Macleod “Calum Alastair“, 2 Habost, Lochs who was helping in his father’s boat.  Skipper Alastair had moved from Balallan to Habost to take the place of a family that was evicted and moved away to Harris by the notorious factor Donald Munro.

Hundreds of people were engaged on each side in the fight and some Lewismen were arrested and taken to jail and this action by the police aggravated the situation. Domhnull Ruaridh Mackenzie, 10 Laxay,  assisted by his crew and others removed the mast from his boat and used it as a battering ram against the jail door and released the prisoners.  Almost every village in Lewis were represented in the riot and some of the men were stabbed and many hurt while some on both sides were given a ducking in the harbour.

An unusually strong man from Keose played a prominent part, Rob MacDhòmhnaill 12 Keose “Mac Domhnuill Bhan“, one of his roles was to provide ammunition for the rioters by breaking up barrels and supplying staves.  In the end the local authorities called in the military and Rev George Mackay of Tongue and peace was restored just before the end of the fishing season. A warrant was issued for the arrest of the strong man from Keose, Robert Macdonald and in order to evade the police he fled immediately first on foot,  but he had not gone far when he was overtaken by a carriage and pair. MacDonald’s signal for a lift was ignored and as a consequence he ran after the carriage and jumped in and ejected the driver and his passenger and left them by the roadside.  By the time the horses became exhausted he was near Poolewe, where he got the ferry “Mary Jane” to Lewis but the Lewis police were informed and Macdonald had to go into hiding with friends in Cromore until he thought the furore had died down.  Back home in Keose he soon joined the other youths who used to gather in the manse kitchen with the servants. One evening the Stornoway police turned up and arrested Rob and handcuffed him to one of the officers.  Near a Loch outside the village Rob said he was not going any further and asked the police to release him, when they refused he threatened to drag the officer to whom he was handcuffed  into the Loch.  After a brief struggle the officers felt they were no match for Rob and decided to release him to the delight of his friends, a large number of whom had gathered to give moral support to Rob. Knowing that he was a marked man he decided to leave via Tarbert to resume his seafaring career, this time in the Merchant Navy.  Alas a few years later he was lost in the Thames Estuary.

Three and a half years old and about to have my first remembered memory of our annual holiday on the Hebridean island of Lewis, isle of the heather and ‘land of my fathers’.

Three o’clock in the morning with myself seated on our cabin trunk, wearing my new white tammy resplendent with long white tassel – my pride and joy.  Excited.  We were a family of five, my parents, my sister, my brother and me. We awaited the arrival of the Glasgow taxi, which was to take us to Buchanan Street Railway Station, where the ‘Great adventure’ would begin…..

The 4.15 train for Mallaig arrived and with lots of other passengers and a proliferation of cases and more important things like fishing rods, we clambered aboard. Three to four hours later and half-asleep, we left the train to walk across to Mallaig harbour. There was the steamer which was to transport us north to Kyle of Lochalsh – a journey of some 2/3 hours. Warm and sunny weather and warm enough to be on deck, open up our flasks and sandwiches and have a late lunch.  Sail over and we were now on the pier at Kyle. We would wait with our luggage until the ‘Sheila’, the Stornoway steamer, would dock. Another hour would pass as cargo and luggage preceded the passengers and rucksacked tourists were allowed on board. The sea breeze had become a stiffening wind by this time, threatening to ‘de-tammy’ me. I have this memory of great anxiety about this.

The Minch is well known for its turbulence and the cause of much seasickness. Indeed, stretcher cases have been known to be taken off at Stornoway, but steamers are much better equipped with stabilisers now. My father, a soft spoken highland gentleman, but a strict disciplinarian had one answer to this, ” Take the travelling rugs, get up to the top deck, fill your lungs with good fresh air – and don’t DARE to be sick!” And, you know, we weren’t!

Three hours on, past the Shiant Isles, known for it’s teeming bird life covering the rocks and once owned by Compton Mackenzie the novelist and celebrated author of ‘Whisky Galore’, who lived on Barra.

Four hours pass and the houses of Stornoway have come into view and the decks are lined with passengers, binoculars at the ready. The Stornoway pier was packed with townsfolk, as in these days, that was the event of the day. Down the gangway to be greeted by welcoming relatives and then conveyed to my father’s uncle’s house, a white haired old gentleman. There the little old lady (probably about 55!!) dressed elegantly in black long skirt and blouse, a white lace cap on her head, dispensed hospitality; tea, scones and cherry cake. Exchange of news in Gaelic, of course, was greatly enjoyed by the adults.

Time to leave and, freshened up, we collected the luggage and climbed into a pony and trap. For the road again to Loch Erisort, which is a long sea loch like a Norwegian fjord. Perched on my father’s knee and sheltered from the elements by his golfing umbrella, the clippety-clop of the pony all but sent me into a deep sleep. There was, however, one perilous moment when the umbrella, the wind, or indeed both, had united once again to take off my pride and joy, but by clutching hard with both hands I retained it.

Twelve miles along the Lochs road we alighted at the village of Laxay, my mother’s birthplace and childhood home. Relatives were waiting to greet us and to carry our luggage from the road, across the machair some distance to the loch-side. At that time there was no road round the end of Loch Erisort and one had to cross by boat. So, there was the rowing boat awaiting us with kind hands to assist us as we went on the final part of our journey to “Tir N’an Og!” Half an hour’s sail across the loch and Habost, final resting place in sight. Out of the boat, steep slope ahead, dear relatives helping and finally – home!

Into the house, a feast on the table, and the joy of my father to gaze yet again upon his dear Loch Erisort. I took off my tammy….!!