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This must be why I’m a Scotsman.



I not only identify with these people, I can long for their experience and the character it must have built. And I can feel their terror, when on August 29th, 1930 they were forcibly removed by their government and relocated.

The morning of the evacuation promised a perfect day. The sun rose out of a calm and sparkling sea and warmed the impassive cliffs of Oiseval. The sky was hopelessly blue and the sight of Hirta, green and pleasant as the island of so many careless dreams, made parting all the more difficult. Observing tradition the islanders left an open Bible and a small pile of oats in each house, locked all the doors and at 7 am boarded the Harebell. Although exhausted by the strain and hard work of the last few days, they were reported to have stayed cheerful throughout the operation. But as the long antler of Dun fell back onto the horizon and the familiar outline of the island grew faint, the severing of an ancient tie became a reality and the St Kildans gave way to tears.

Do you think there were any locked doors in this village when it was occupied?

Oh, by the way, this was posting #400.

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