Machaire Na Hearadh: A’ Fàs is A’ Dol Fàs

Nuair bhios mi san Àird aig Òrd-Bhàirneach MhicLeòid,

Chan eil sealladh cho àlainn an ceàrn san Roinn Eòrp’.

A’ ghrian ’s i gam fhàgail ’s i deàrrsadh mar òr,

Dol sìos air Àird Mhànais ’s air Gàisgeir nan ròn.

Chan eil teagamh nach eil Machaire Na Hearadh na àite taitneach, agus air iomadh neach a ghluasad gu bàrdachd, m’ athair fhèin nam measg agus an ceathramh-òrain gu h-àrd a’ nochdadh a chuid fhaireachdainnean gu gleusta, grinn mu mhaise na sgìre. Tha mi cinnteach gur iomadh duine eile a sheas greiseag an tacsa na cloiche mòire thar nam bliadhnaichean, agus a dh’fhidir an smuaintean fhèin mun t-sealladh a bha fo chomhair an sùilean.

Cuiridh mi geall nam biodh cainnt aig a’ chloich, gur iomadh sgeul a dh’innseadh i fhèin cuideachd. Àrd os cionn na tràghad air Àird Niseaboist, their cuid gun robh i uaireigin na h àite-cruinneachaidh sluaigh aig Ceann-cinnidh nan Leòdach. Tha seanchas eile ag innse gun robh i na h-òrd-bhàirneach aig fuamhairean, fada mus robh sgeul air Clann MhicLeòid. Ach tha fios againn le cinnt gu bheil i a’ dol air ais gu Nua-linn na Cloiche agus gu bheil i air a bhith a’ cumail faire air an àite, air a socair fhèin, tro na linntean bhon uair sin. Nach iomadh caochladh a chunnaic i na latha agus air an àrainn mun cuairt oirre. Daoine a’ tighinn is a’ falbh, len deòin agus dhan aindeoin.

Nuair a bha m’ athair na bhalach ann an Horgabost, b’ e corra shrainnsear a chìte anns an eilean—gun luaidh air a’ bhaile—agus b’ e rud àraid a bh’ ann càr fhaicinn air an rathad-mhòr. Cha bhiodh daoine a’ siubhal an uair sin mar a tha iad an-diugh. Cha robh m’ athair ach sia bliadhna a dh’aois nuair a rinn e fhèin ’s a theaghlach an imrich bho thaobh an ear Na Hearadh gu fearainn ùra a’ Mhachaire, aig deireadh a’ Chèitein, 1937. Annas mòr do ghille beag às Na Bàigh, nach robh air gainmheach fhaicinn riamh na bheatha gus ceala-deug ron seo, nuair a thàinig Sgoil Mhànais air chuairt gu Tràigh Sgarastaigh airson cuirm-chnuic, an latha a chrùnadh Rìgh Deòrsa VI air an 12na dhen Chèitean.

Rìgh ùr, baile ùr, agus beatha ùr do Dhòmhnall beag Dòmhnallach. Dòchas às ùr cuideachd, do dhaoine aig nach robh mòran, agus a rinn riasladh gu leòr a’ strì ri beòshlaint a dhèanamh am measg chreagan is lòin taobh sear an eilein, far an deach muinntir an taoibh an iar a chartadh aig àm nam Fuadaichean.

Mean air mhean, dh’fhàs na Machraich ùra cleachdte ris a’ bheatha ùir, agus cha b’ fhada gus an robh iad cho eòlach air a’ chruth-thìre choimheach, chòmhnard seo ’s a bha iad air creagan is carraigean nam Bàgh. Ged nach fhaiceadh iad na steàrnagan a’ sgiathalaich os cionn Sgeir an t-Sruth, bha iad a cheart cho pailt os cionn Clach MhicLeòid.

Dh’fhàs a’ choimhearsnachd cuideachd, is an luchd-tuineachaidh ùr a’ faighinn iasadan de £150 bho Bhòrd an Àiteachais airson taighean a thogail—agus 80 bliadhna airson a phàigheadh air ais. Ged a shaoilte an-diugh gur beag-seagh an t-sùim sin, cha robh mo sheanair a’ cosnadh ach beagan a bharrachd air not san t seachdain aig an àm.

Agus nach iomadh rud a chì an duine a bhios fada beò. Tha an 80 bliadhna air a dhol seachad, agus ged a tha na taighean an siud fhathast—is tòrr eile a bharrachd air an fheadhainn a thog na croitearan—’s e glè bheag dhiubh a tha nan dachannan.

Ma bha an srainnsear gann nuair a bha m’ athair na bhalach beag, chan e sin dheth an diugh anns Na Hearadh. Coltach ri gu leòr de dh’àiteachan eile air a’ Ghàidhealtachd is anns na h Eileanan, tha an àireamh dhaoine a tha a’ tighinn tro mhìosan an t-samhraidh a’ sìor dhol am meud. Tha feadhainn ag iarraidh làithean-saora thall thairis a sheachnadh agus tha feadhainn eile air an tàladh leis na h ìomhaighean brèagha a tha iad a’ faicinn air an eadar-lìon. Ge brith dè an t-adhbhar, tha na mìltean de luchd-turais a’ taomadh ann a h-uile bliadhna, às gach ceàrnaidh dhen t-saoghal. Ged a tha seo na bhuannachd do chuid, chan eil teagamh nach eil duilgheadas am pailteas na chois do dh’fheadhainn eile. Mar a thachras gu tric is minig, nuair a tha fèill mhòr ga dhèanamh air àite le luchd-turais, tha prìsean nan taighean san sgìre sin a’ dol an-àird.

Anns na beagan bhliadhnaichean a dh’fhalbh, chaidh fearainn is taighean is pìosan talmhainn a reic airson prìsean nach fhacas riamh roimhe air taobh siar Na Hearadh. Thathar gan ceannach le daoine nach tig, math dh’fhaodte, ach airson ceala-deug an siud ’s an seo tron bhliadhna. Tha taighean eile gan cleachdadh mar dhòigh air airgead a dhèanamh, agus a-nis tha earrann mhath de na taighean eadar Sgarastagh is Losgaintir do luchd-turais a mhàin, no falamh. Cha leigear a leas a ràdh nach eil sin math ann an coimhearsnachd sam bith.

Tha seo gu seachd àraid na dhùbhlan do dhaoine òga, a tha a’ sireadh àiteachan-còmhnaidh aig prìsean a tha a rèir an comais—agus tha fios aig a h-uile duine nach seas coimhearsnachd sam bith mura bi daoine òga innte. Tha e doirbh fuasgladh dòigheil fhaighinn air dùbhlan a tha cho ioma-fhillte, ach tha e follaiseach gu bheil turasachd air a buaidh agus a dreach dubhach fhèin a thoirt air an àite.

Aig Sealbh tha fios na tha an dàn dhan Mhachaire san àm ri teachd. Bidh tuineachaidhean gan stèidheachadh is a’ dol fàs, agus canaidh cuid gu bheil sin nàdarra gu leòr. Ach tha tòrr a bharrachd an crochadh air coimhearsnachd fhallain, sheasmhach. Tha uallach air daoine gu bheil am Machaire fhèin ga mhilleadh fo chuideam an luchd-campachaidh, ach chan e na dùin-ghainmhich a-mhàin a tha a’ crìonadh, agus an cànan is an cultar a-nis ann an staid gu math cugallach cuideachd.

An-diugh, tha talla-coimhearsnachd mòr, ùr na sheasamh os cionn na tràghad, far a bheil an rann a dh’aithris mi aig an toiseach snaighte air leòsain nan uinneag. A-mach orra, chithear Clach MhicLeòid air fàire, shuas air mullach na h-Àirde, fhathast a’ cumail faire air a socair fhèin. Cleas nan steàrnag os a cionn, bidh an luchd-turais a’ tighinn is a’ falbh a h-uile bliadhna, ach tha aon nì cinnteach, am measg gach dùbhlan is iomagain a dh’fhaodadh a bhith againn—’s e sin gum bi a’ chlach an siud is gun sgeul air duine againn.

The Harris Machair: Expansion and Desolation

The vista before me at MacLeod’s Limpet Stone,

Is the finest in Europe and a joy to behold.

As the sun bids farewell, golden, glistening it shines,

Going down on Àird Mhànais and Gàisgeir, seal isle.

The Harris Machair is undoubtedly an alluring place, and one which has inspired many a poet, my own father included. The verse above eloquently encapsulates his feelings as he describes the beauty of the surrounding countryside. I am sure that many others, through the ages, have paused for a moment at the standing stone with their own thoughts and feelings.

I am also sure that if the stone could speak, it would have a fair few tales to tell. High above the beach at Àird Niseaboist, some say that it was once a clan gathering place for the MacLeod chiefs. According to another legend, it was a limpet hammer belonging to the giants of old, long before Clan MacLeod ever existed. What we know for certain is that it dates back to Neolithic times, and has been a silent sentinel, quietly watching over the area for centuries. Undoubtedly, it has witnessed innumerable changes through the years as people have come and gone, of their own accord and otherwise.

When my father was a boy in Horgabost, it was unusual to see a stranger on the island—never mind in the village—and it was rarer still to see a car on the road. People didn’t travel in those days like they do now. My father was only six years old when he moved with his family from the east side of Harris to the new crofts of the Machair, at the end of May, 1937. A novelty indeed for a little boy from the Bays, who hadn’t seen sand until a fortnight before, when Manish School came to Scarista Beach for a picnic, to mark the coronation of King George VI on the 12th of May.

A new king, a new village and a new life for little Donald MacDonald. Renewed hope as well, for folk who had very little, and who had struggled to make a living amongst the rocks and bogs of the east side of the island, where the people from the west had been driven at the time of the Clearances.

Gradually, the new Machair folk became accustomed to their new lives, and before long were as grounded in this flat, foreign landscape as they had been among the rocks and reefs of the Bays. Although they couldn’t see the terns swooping over Sgeir an t-Sruth, the birds were just as plentiful over Clach MhicLeòid.

And, by and by, the community grew and the new settlers were given loans of £150 from the Board of Agriculture to build homes—with 80 years in which to pay the money back. This might seem a paltry sum in today’s terms, but my grandfather didn’t earn much more than a pound a week back then.

It is said that the man who lives long will see many things in his lifetime. Those 80 years have now passed, and although the houses are still there—with many more, besides the ones the crofters built—very few are homes.

If strangers were thin on the ground when my father was a boy, the same cannot be said of Harris today. Similar to a lot of places in the Highlands and Islands, the number of people now visiting in the summer months has vastly increased. Some want to avoid holidaying abroad, whilst others are attracted by the beautiful pictures they see on the internet. Whatever the reason, thousands of tourists now flock there every year, and they come from all over the world. Although this might be beneficial to some, there is no doubt that it causes problems for others, and when a place becomes popular with tourists, house prices in the area inevitably rise.

Within the last few years, crofts and houses and plots of land have sold for sums never before seen on the west coast of Harris, and are snapped up by people who might only come for a couple of weeks, here and there, throughout the year. Other houses are used as a source of income, and now a significant proportion of the houses between Scarista and Luskentyre are used exclusively by tourists, or lie empty. It goes without saying that this is not good for any community.

The situation is especially challenging for young people who are looking for affordable housing—and everybody knows that a community cannot survive without young people. It is difficult to find a reasonable solution for such a multi-faceted problem, but it is evident that tourism is having an impact, and has cast its own shadow over the place.

Heaven knows what lies in store for the Machair lands of West Harris. Communities settle and disperse, and many would argue that this is just the natural order of things. However, a lot more depends on a healthy and thriving community. People are concerned that the Machair itself is being damaged by the pressure of campers, but like the eroding sand dunes, the language and culture are also in steady decline and in a precarious state.

Today, a large new community hall overlooks the beach, the verse I quoted earlier inscribed on its windows. Looking out, Clach MhicLeòid is visible on the headland beyond, gentle and still, quietly keeping guard. Like the terns above, tourists will come and go with each passing season. We will still have our worries and woes, but one thing remains a certainty—the stone will be there, long after we are all gone.