A Lonely Grave

The story of a lonely grave I found on a rough uninhabited coast of the West coast of Scotland

A lonely grave

Between the rocky point of Ardnamurchan and Mallaig

lies the wide silvery sands of Morar.

Between Morar’s sands  and Haakon’s inlet

lies the lonely bay of the otters.

Between the three rowan trees on one side 

and a patch of yellow irises on the other

lies a beach of ringing pebbles.

Above the beach, on a small sward of grass,

I found the rough stone outline of an ancient grave.

 

In the year of our Lord 1737 Morag McNab stood at the door of her black house and bade, the Lord willing, her husband Uilliam and her fine son Hector, safe voyage and good fishing. With his father, Hector loaded their open boat, the Caroline, with nets, cork floats, water bladders and bannocks and cheese.

Casting off from the rough stone village pier father and son rowed strongly with roughened hands out into the glassy sea of the inner sound. Catching a fickle wind they set the sail and tacked slowly out into the open sea in search of the silvery herring.

 

As father and son sailed they sang.

‘Where else should we go.

But asail on the sound.

With our friends that we love.

Where the herring are found.

 

Beyond the sacred isle of Canna, the silvery flash of a herring shoal caught Uilliam's eye.The nets were cast and after an anxious period, hauled in. In no time a silvery treasure lay twitching at their feet.

 

‘Thank the Lord, our task is done, said Uilleam.

‘It’s time to return with our bounty.’

Deeply laden in the water, the Caroline returned past the islands of Canna and Rhum to the inner sound. Father and son sat content, in the stern, smoking their clay pipes.

 

When all seemed fair for home the wind blew up and the waves grew high. The land was lost, the boat was tossed. Plucked by a wave, Hector was washed overboard. Uilliam held his son’s hand long but his grasp weakened, their fingers slipped. His firstborn was gone, grasped by the storm. As spring follows winter, the storm dwindled, the waves and wind calmed. Uilliam searched longer than hope lasted, for the remains of that day  and another, then turned, distraught and broken, for home.

As he sailed back, heavy hearted, fearing what was to come, Uilliam sought meaning - the Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away - but knew this would not satisfy Morag, waiting for her only child to return.

 

Morag McNab stood cross armed at the door of her black house, watching Uilliam approach, feet dragging, head down. There was no need for words as he lifted his head. Morag's spark was extinguished for ever!

A few days later, on a far shore, Mairi McLean walked alone, carefree, back to her village. North of Harold’s inlet and south of the three rowan trees, she came on a young man’s seaweed strewn body lying naked  between the yellow irises and the ringing pebbles.

Mairi ran home weeping. The men of the village returned, dug a grave. The minister was called, he intoned the necessary words and the grave was marked by a rough stone outline.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I very much love the way you start out this story in such poetic prose. Your storytelling is very imaginative & it conveys the mood of this piece perfectly. Given your past stories, I expected a twist at the end, but instead this was a straightforward story reflecting the powers of your imagination. I admire you for seeing some ordinary thing in life & then composing a realistic & believable story to explain it. I love your descriptions of a life at sea, nicely realistic in a lyrical way (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[alanwgraham]

Thanks Margie, I'm very glad you enjoyed this and I can see that the unpredictable can easily become predictable. There is a lot of detail that you need to get right in any historical piece and i have a feeling Ken might spot something. One of the most memorable weeks of my life was when eight of us canoed out over this water to spend a blissful week on an uninhabited island. On the paddle out the cloud came down and we lost sight of land. Sometime later we became aware we were all singing' Abide with me'! So, not entirely from imagination.
We are enjoying summer here - it wont last long!
All the best Alan

[barleygirl]

Love this share! It's like having a sweet dessert treat after the meal of your posted story! *smile*

[busterlee]

I enjoyed the read. There is a ghostly tone to it, ghostly and poetic.

[Sami Khalil]

Very sad and touching. Awesome description of the place or places, the bond of the father and son, their religious subsidence and sustenance of the sea and its varied treasures. Lonely graves wait for visitors of family and friends. You write with precision and passion.