End of an era. As he grew older, and interest in St Kilda revived, interviewers tried to rifle his memories more and more often. But those, too, were fading. Only three seemed to remain as vivid as the rare, precious photographs. The first was of his mother, wrapped in her shawl, standing on the walled bank outside their house and shouting “Tormod Iain [his Gaelic name], come home to dinner!” The second was of his mother again, her shawl over her head, waving to him from the rowing boat that took her away to hospital in the February of 1930, never to return. And the third was of the old St Kildan women, standing in the stern of the Harebell, “waving to the island” as to a living person, as they all left. And so St Kilda, hearth and home, disappeared into the grey Atlantic swell.
Posted on: Wed, 23 Oct 2013 13:31:20 +0000
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