BY HILL AND SHORE
Angus Martin
Part One
GLENREA was on the agenda on 8 December of last year. I'd never been there before, but my companions, George, Sandy and John McSporran, had. The steading, which lies above Glenbreackerie, but is reached by forestry track from the Homeston Road, disappeared from sight when the area was afforested. But a good whack of land was left unplanted around the steading, and it's a perfect joy to behold in springtime, when 'a host of golden daffodils' appears.
We found the south-facing gable of the main steading collapsed when we arrived there, and George said that when he was last there, a couple of months earlier, it was intact. I remembered that Mrs Mary McFadyen, John the photographer's mother, had been reared at Glenrea, and I cursed myself for never having thought to ask her about her life there. It's a remarkably primitive structure, even as ruins go, and quite remote. John recalls his mother telling him that it was arduous getting to and from Glenbreackerie School in winter conditions. She was a daughter of Angus McIntyre. Dr Duncan McCallum, who was a GP in town for over a quarter of a century, and who died at the age of 56 in 1951, was bom in Glenrea.
Glenrea is, of course, immortalised in the 19th century song, The Thatchers of Glenrea, composed by Hector 'Hecky' McIlfatrick (see my Kirtyre: The Hidden Past, p 221). Glenrea was evidently not the most hospitable of places to work, and Hecky records how 'MacNeil o' Glenrea' asks him if he can 'theek [thatch] wi' odd rashes', and then produces an old ladder that wants mending.
'While the ladder was mendin we went in for our tay;
'Troth, it's not a bad offer for to get at Glenrea.'
'MacNeil o' Glenrea' was one Archibald MacNeil, who had been a farm servant but went to Glenrea to help his widowed sister, Margaret McMath. Dugald and John McMath had got a 19-year lease of the place - described as a 'small muir farm or grazing pendicle' - in 1818. Archibald was confirmed in his lease in 1837. His sister died in 1840, some years after her husband, Dugald, leaving two daughters, Isabella and Margaret. The girls appear in the 1841 Census, aged 10 and 8 respectively, along with Neil McNeal (80), Susan McNeal (70) - their grandparents, presumably - Archibald (40), and a shepherd and female servant. The sisters subsequently went away to Canada, and its certainly sad to think of them playing round about Glenrea all their young lives, and then, as orphans, finding themselves thousands of miles away. Does any reader know anything of their subsequent lives? Malcolm McMath in Machrimore and Neil McMath in Glenehanty were their uncles.
We met, on one of the forest tracks near Glenrea, the Cowan family from Oatfield House, including William, who attended nursery at the time with my Isabella. William and Bella, who was with me that day, didn't exchange a single word, but I think they were quite happy to meet so unexpectedly in such an unusual place.
Alone, I met the Cowans again, on 30 March, just north of the Castles on Polliwilline shore. We all went the length of The Snoot, on the narrow ridge of which I found an unusual bird pellet, as I thought it to be. It contained a mass of ROUGH WINKLES (Littorina saxatilis) which the creature had consumed. George McSporran, who visited me at the caravan later in the day, thought it more likely to be a fox dropping than a pellet. The thing had largely disintegrated, hence the difficulty of identifying its nature.
On 19 January, I was with the McSporrans again. We set off from the Gap, heading northwards. We had no specific destination in mind, but, having sighted the ruins of INNEAN DUNAIN, we decided to stop there and have our lunch. I mentioned to my companions that the last time I'd been there was when I camped overnight with my wife some 11years go. At that time, my keeping of a 'hiking journal' had lapsed, but, as I remember it, we were sitting in the Davaar Bar one Saturday evening having a drink and noticed the sky brightening to the west. On an impulse, we returned home at once, packed our gear and drove to Largybaan. I remember little of the trip, except that we went down on to the stony shore to gather firewood and looked at the fort there, marvelling at how its Iron Age builders managed to exist out there.
The township itself certainly occupies a beautiful spot, on a coastal terrace, and within the ruins there lies a circular stone with a hollow in the middle of it; not a quern, for the stone itself is deep and chunky, but probably a 'knockin stane', in which grain was ground to meal by the action of a hand-held pestle. In the Hearth Tax of 1694, 'ane cutag' - a corn-kiln - was noted against the tenant, Duncan McMillan, and there is indeed such a kiln still to be seen on the seaward side of the ruins. 'Inendunan' was turned over to sheep along with neighbouring 'Inencocallach' in 1775.
We kept low on the coast on our return to the Gap, which later necessitated the gaining of height, and all but Sandy and Benjie the dog found the effort on the rough terrain very strenuous. At the Gap, we met Angus McAllister, our native-born television editor, recording Mull of Kintyre wind effects.
When I returned home, I mentioned to Judy that we'd gone to Innean Dunain, whereupon she, related an odd coincidence. During the afternoon, our bored daughters decided that they wanted to erect a tent in the back garden. Judy persuaded them that, given the cold wind, it would be better to put up the tent indoors. She fetched my old blue tent and explained to the girls that the last time it had been used was at this old ruin, Innean Dunain, and told them where it was and how she and father had camped there before any of them were born, little suspecting that at that very moment father was back at Innean Dunain!
Nature sightings that day included a GOLDEN EAGLE swooping over the shore to the north of the township, and half-a-dozen WILD GOATS heading south, in the direction of the Lighthouse.
The dog and I spent a few enjoyable hours at Low Smerby on 19 January, FIELD-WALKING with Frances Hood, Wendy Vandome and Chris Barrowman, a postgraduate archaeology student involved in evaluating lithic scatters for Historic Scotland. As we walked from the steading to the southern end of the newly-ploughed field to begin the business, I spotted a tiny flake exposed on the last rig that had been turned and allowed myself the assumption that pickings would be good. Alas! - there was no other find for me, other than a half of a wally egg, once used for clocking hens.
It was interesting to observe the techniques of field-walking that day. We walked in lines, 20 meters apart, and every find was bagged and left in situ, with a flag pinned through the bag to show its position. Once the field had been covered in that fashion, it was possible to see the number of finds, their overall position, and, subsequently, if there was clustering in any part of the field. The definite finds - six in total - were then plotted on to a plan of the field.
I quote from Mr Barrowman's report: 'This scatter is very fragmentary and, unfortunately, due to the state of the flints, most of which have been damaged in the plough soil, and two of which have been badly water-rolled (making it difficult to see any retouch) the information gained from their examination is minimal ... It can be said that flints have been worked in this area, however, presumably in the immediate locality, due to the presence of a possible core rejuvenation flake and secondary and tertiary flakes, which indicate the working of a core.
We met Mr and Mrs James McNair, who formerly farmed Low Smerby, out for a stroll, and chatted briefly with them. Afterwards, I walked home with Benjie by the shore, gathering coal and driftwood as I went. It was a calm, dry day, a joy to be out in.
Last winter was full of walks, thanks to our West Highland White, Benjie (neither the dog nor his name was my idea, but I have accepted both!) I've become especially fond of walking with him along Low Askomel and on to MacRingan's Point and sometimes Kilchousland, not infrequently setting off after I finish work. I'm enjoying the exercise too, and benefiting by the collection of driftwood for the fire. One notable find was a 15ft branch of bleached ash at MacRingan's Point. I sawed it into three bits and shouldered these home individually.
Bella and I went the length of MacRingan's on January 14, which I had as a day off work. It was a rather raw day, but we enjoyed the outing and found on the Point the dessicated corpse of a SPARROW HAWK and the feathers, skull and legs of an OYSTER CATCHER, which had been killed and plucked by some raptor. Following the track over the Red Rocks, we found WHINS already beginning to bud.
A Royal Mail colleague, Brian Cook, was surprised to find, on 25 January, young HAWTHORN trees already budding at Kilmaho Cottage, and broke off a sprig the following day to show me the buds forming on it.
Bella accompanied me on another walk to MacRingan's Point on 5 February. The first thing of interest that we noticed was a COMMON LIZARD basking on a boulder just before the Fisherman's Gate. The sun was certainly out at the time, but there was also a cool breeze blowing. That was unquestionably my earliest lizard sighting ever.
While Bella and I were sitting at the back of the Point, having a welcome hot drink, we suffered the fright of having two RAF fighter planes fly low right over the top of us. For anyone who hasn't experienced this in the quiet of the countryside, it's difficult to describe adequately. If you see the things approaching, then there's the sheer suspense of waiting for the hideous sound-wave to break, and, if you don't see them coming, you've the shock of the sudden roar.
Our worst experience was, as a family, at Crockerie - a mined cottage on Bellfield ground - in July 1992. We had stopped there for a rest during a hike. Sarah and Amelia were playing on the walls and Bella, then only a baby in her carrier, was asleep. I saw the jet appear suddenly over the ridge to the north. Seconds later, it passed right over us, at about 100 ft. The girls tumbled from the walls, screaming, and Bella woke at once. Judy and I were both trembling. I complained - not for the first time - to the MoD, about the pilot's breach of the 200ft low-flying ceiling, but to no avail.
It's wonderful what can be found when beach-combing regularly along particular shores. Last winter, between Dalintober and Kilchousland, I picked up many a thing, from perfect tennis balls to an undamaged 1960s United Creameries, Campbeltown, milk-bottle, not forgetting a dirty and bedraggled Bugs Bunny hand-puppet which Bella insisted we take home, and which, despite my disgusted reluctance at the time, actually turned into a loveable creature after several machine-washings. Something I haven't seen since I was a boy is a BEARDED MUSSEL shell. I used to pick them up along Baraskomel shore. It is about the size of the common mussel, but the shell is covered with a yellowish-brown horny layer, which extends over the edge of the shell in the form of a fringe - the 'beard'. Watch out for specimens, and let me know where they can be found.
On 4 March, when Benjie and I were returning from an evening walk to Kilchousland, I picked up a chunk of brown, worked beach-FLINT from the grassy field at MacRingan's Point. Ten days later, I lifted another chunk, this time grey in colour, from the shore beneath the nearby Red Rocks. It too looked as though it had been worked, but Dr Alison Sheridan, Assistant Keeper of Archaeology at the National Museums of Scotland, looked at it in March, when she was in Campbeltown to lecture at the annual general meeting of the Friends of Campbeltown Museum, and her opinion was that the chipped effect could have been caused naturally. These were my third and fourth flint finds there - the other two, which were flakes, I lifted from molehills - and I'm pretty certain that, should the field be ploughed again, it will yield well in a field-walking exercise.
Amelia, Isabella and I, with dog, had a delightful outing one Saturday afternoon in late February. We stopped for our picnic on the south side of the volcanic dyke just before Kilchousland and found evidence that a geologist (presumably) had been hammering into a vein of QUARTZ to reach the pristine crystals within it. We were able ourselves to pocket some lovely little crystals that had been left behind.
When Greta Daniels asked me to walk the strand between Westport and Machrihanish, for the RSPB beached bird survey, I agreed. I, in my turn, roped in George McSporran, whose son Sandy and friend Richard Muir also came along. This survey, to monitor oil pollution at sea and to count the number of birds washed ashore and the proportion of them oiled, is conducted annually during the last weekend of February.
George and I did our bit on the Sunday. The outing started badly for me. I'd taken a walk in the morning with the family and was late getting back home. The car was already waiting for me, so I piled in wearing only 'trainers' and without flask, food and tobacco. Merely ten minutes into the walk, while in conversation with George and Ellen McMillan, I heard a warning shout. Too late! I'd had my back to the sea - a mistake! - and a breaker swept around me and filled my shoes with water. Being nervous of catching colds, the mishap bothered me, but the afternoon was so mild that, to my surprise, I scarcely noticed my wet feet.
There were very few birds washed in, owing to the recent gales that scoured the beach. We found only a common guillemot and a herring gull's head! But we did find an abundance of clabbydoos (horse mussels), an ancient oyster shell, a fresh common sun star, and a poor dead nanny goat. We also found, and bagged, a fair puckle of sea-coal, and carried away some driftwood. That beach is home to lots of desirable hardwood branches, but the problem is getting the stuff off the beach. The dunes have eroded badly in the February gales, and there was evidence of oil pollution in the form of hard, weathered blobs - no surprise, for I doubt if there's a beach on the west side that is free from oil.
Iain Hood, Peninver, and Midge the dog had a couple of unusual experiences with OTTERS in mid-November on a Southend beach. The dog disturbed a pair of young otters which had been hiding beneath a rock. The cubs didn't appear to be in the least shy, and for about 15 minutes kept running off and returning inquisitively to within 6ft of dog and man. Having left the cubs in peace, they soon encountered a third otter - an adult this time, and no doubt the mother - in the next bay. The animal's presence was signalled by a cheeping noise. Dog and otter then began a routine of confrontation and retreat: the otter would run into the sea, followed by Midge - who was able to nip her a couple of times - and then the otter would re-emerge from the water and resume the sport, if sport it actually was. Iain spent some five minutes trying to get Midge to break off relations with the otter, no easy matter when a dog's blood is up. These encounters constituted the longest- and closest-observed dealings Iain has yet had with the species.
On the same beach, in late December of last year, Sid and Jane Gallagher and friends Annie and Neil Cathorne, with their respective families, all saw an otter. 'It was a beautiful cold and sunny day,' Jane writes, '... getting late, and light was leaving, when we saw the otter, almost in silhouette, run from the grass, across the sand and into the sea..........We tried to watch what happened to it in the sea, but lost sight of it there. My first otter, and so exciting for me.'
Otters have been sighted in Campbeltown Loch in recent years. In the autumn of last year, Ellen Oliver twice saw one mid-way along Low Askomel. On the first occasion, the creature was sitting on a rock eating a fish. Having finished its meal, it returned to the water, lay on its back, and then re-emerged on to the shore, despite Ellen's obvious presence on the road above. John Brodie, the postman on the Askomel delivery, also occasionally sees otters.
My Coastguard colleague, Robert Houston, during a search exercise along a rocky stretch of coast on the west side of Kintyre in March, encountered an otter comimg towards him with a pinkish-coloured fish, about 9 inches long, in its mouth. Upon seeing him, it darted under a rock just above the high water mark and was lost from sight.
Part Two next month
No 42 Autumn 1997
Page 2: Janet and Marie Morrison's 1993 Trip to Scotland - Part 2
Page 3: David Whitehead's Genealogy Special - Part Three
Page 4: John and Mary Morrison of Rocky River - The Second Part
Page 5: Three Brothers from Drumalea // The Keprigan Hen
Page 6: The Vegetation of Kintyre - Part Two
Page 7: The Churches of Campbeltown Since the Reformation // The Norwegian Connection
Page 9: John McLeod Campbell // An Apprentice Agreement of a Hundred and Fifty Years Ago