Meeting of the Parliament 19 December 2018
Air iomadach càrn-chogaidh air feadh na rìoghachd, tha 1914 gu 1919 sgrìobhte. Tha an dàrna bhliadhna sin a’ cuimhneachadh a’ chùmhnaint ann an Versailles a chuir crìoch air a’ chogadh gu foirmeil. Ach bha sin seachd mìosan às dèidh do na gunnaichean fàs sàmhach anns an t-Samhain 1918, agus do thòrr dhaoine a-nis, tha 1919 a’ coimhead caran neònach mar cheann-latha airson crìoch a’ chogaidh. Ach ann an aon àite co-dhiù, tha a’ bhliadhna sin a’ dèanamh ciall anns an dòigh bhrùideil aige fhèin fhathast.
Ann an Leòdhas agus anns na Hearadh cha tàinig call a’ chogaidh mhòir gu crìch ach air a’ chiad latha den bhliadhn’ ùir. Agus bha buaidh mhòr aig an rud a thachair air an latha sin, buaidh air bailtean agus teaghlaichean anns na h-eileanan airson bhliadhnaichean mòra, gus an latha an-diugh.
“An rud a thachair”. Tha e a’ tighinn a-steach orm mar a tha mi a’ cleachdadh nam facal sin nach do dh’ainmich mi an rud a thachair fhathast. ’S dòcha gu bheil rudeigin freagarrach mun an sin, air sgàth ’s gun robh an gnothach cho gort nach tuirt muinntir nan eilean mòran mu dheidhinn airson 60 bliadhna co-dhiù. Bha an Iolaire na cuspair ro phianail a thogail ann an còmhradh modhail ann an taigh sam bith.
Ach, tha e ceart gu bheil sinn ga chuimhneachadh a-nis, 100 bliadhna às a dhèidh. Agus tha mi taingeil dha-rìribh gu bheil daoine bho gach taobh den Phàrlamaid ann an-diugh, gus sin a dhèanamh.
Seo an rud a thachair, ma-thà: sgeul na h-Iolaire.
Air oidhche challainn 1918, bha His Majesty’s Yacht Iolaire a’ fàgail Caol Loch Aillse. Gu h-iorònach, bha ainm Gàidhlig oirre—An Iolaire—ach cha robh càil a dh’fhios aig a’ Chabhlach Rìoghail ciamar a chanadh iad an t-ainm sin, agus bha an t-ainm “I-o-laire” air a chleachdadh.
Bha an Iolaire loma-làn sheòladairean. Bha a’ chuid as motha dhiubh a’ tighinn dhachaigh às dèidh seirbheis-chogaidh leis a’ Chabhlach Rìoghail, leis an Nèibhidh.
Bha tòrr às na teaghlaichean aig na daoine a bha air bòrd na h-Iolaire a’ cruinneachadh air a’ chidhe an oidhche sin ann an Steòrnabhagh. Bha iad uile dòchasach gum biodh na gillean a’ tighinn air ais dhan eilean ann an deagh thìde gus am biodh iad a’ toirt a-steach na bliadhn’ ùire còmhla ri chèile, agus a’ comharrachadh deireadh a’ chogaidh aig an aon àm. Tha na puingean seo, am measg nithean eile, a’ dèanamh sgeul na h-Iolaire nas duilghe buileach.
Is e oidhche fhiadhaich a bha ann. Dìreach dà mhìle air falbh às a’ chidhe, faisg air 1.55 anns a’ mhadainn air latha na bliadhn’ ùire, bhuail an Iolaire air creagan leis an ainm Biastan Thuilm, agus chaidh i fodha am broinn dà uair a thide. Tha sinn a’ creidsinn gun robh 280 duine air bòrd agus tha sinn a’ creidsinn gun do bhàsaich 201 duine.
Agus fad na tìde, nuair a bha na rudan uabhasach seo a’ tachairt, bha iomadach teaghlach air a’ chidhe, fhathast, dìreach dà mhìle air falbh, a’ feitheamh gu foighidneach, mar a bha iad air a bhith foighidneach airson ceithir bliadhna fhada. Mar a tha aon òran Leòdhasach a’ dol:
Mo chreach, mo chreach ’s a thàinig;
Chaidh an gàirdeachas gu tùrs.
Mun d’ dh’èirich grian na màireach,
’s iomadh gàirdean bha gun lùths.
Chaidh fios air feadh gach àite
gun robh ’n t-àrmann ris robh ’n dùil
air cladach tìr an àraich,
air am bàthadh anns a’ ghrunnd.
Airson làithean às dèidh sin, bha muinntir Leòdhais a’ coimhead a-mach air an tràigh, agus lorg mòran dhiubh cuirp. Cha robh aon chorp am measg gach trì air an lorg agus bha tòrr air an glacadh am broinn na h-Iolaire fhèin. Às dèidh mìos, chuir an Cabhlach Rìoghail sanas a-mach gun robh iad a’ reic na h-Iolaire airson scrap.
Aig an toiseach, cha robh fios aig duine sam bith gu cinnteach cò bha air a dhol air bòrd na h- Iolaire aig a’ Chaol, agus cò eile a bha a’ feitheamh air a’ bhàt’-aiseig às a dèidh, an Sheila. Bha aig tòrr de na daoine air bòrd an Sheila ri coiseachd 50 mìle bho Steòrnabhagh mus do ràinig iad dhachaigh. Chuala mi aon sgeul mu fhear a bha anns an t-suidheachadh seo. Ràinig e dhachaigh mu dheireadh thall agus fhuair e a-mach aig doras an taighe aige gun robh an teaghlach aige a’ deasachadh gus tìodhlachadh a chumail dha fhèin. Tha sgeulachdan gu leòr eile ann mun àm sin, agus tha e math gu bheil muinntir Leòdhais agus na Hearadh gan innse a-nis. Chan eil fios aig a h-uile duine ann an Alba mun Iolaire agus bu chòir.
Tha taisbeanaidhean agus tachartasan air a bhith ann am-bliadhna ann an Caisteal Leòdhais agus ann an diofair bhailtean. Chunnaic tòrr dhaoine cuirm chiùil agus dràma mun an Iolaire air an ard-ùrlar agus cuideachd na dealbhan a rinn Mairead Nicfhearghais. Tha mi an dòchas gum bi tachartas eile a’ gabhail pàirt anns a’ Phàrlamaid fhèin anns a’ Mhàrt, nuair a bhios leabhar ùr “The Darkest Dawn” air a chur air bhog.
Is e tubaist uabhasach a bhiodh ann do choimhearsnachd sam bith 201 neach a chall. Ach airson eilean, tha e doirbh a mhìneachadh dìreach cho mòr ’s a bha e. Dè bhiodh a leithid de thubaist a’ ciallachadh ann an Glaschu, mar eisimpleir? Is dòcha gum biodh sinn a’ bruidhinn mu dheidhinn 5,000 teaghlach ann an Glaschu a’ call mac air an aon latha. Sin an seòrsa buaidh a bha aig an Iolaire air a’ choimhearsnachd ann an Leòdhas agus na Hearadh. Agus, cuimhnich, thàinig an Iolaire às dèidh cogadh anns an robh an aon choimhearsnachd air 1,300 neach eile a chall.
Anns na 10 bliadhna às dèidh na h-Iolaire, bha tòrr anns an eilean a’ call an cuid dòchais. Chaidh mòran gu Canada, Astràilia, na Stàitean agus New Zealand tro na 1920an.
Uaireannan, bidh sinn a’ cuimhneachadh a’ chogaidh mhòir ann an dòigh a tha caran abstract. Ach chan eil rud sam bith abstract mu dheidhinn na h-Iolaire.
Bidh sinn a’ comharrachadh 100 bliadhna le seirbheisean ann an Steòrnabhagh agus faisg air Biastan Thuilm air oidhche challainn agus air Latha na Bliadhn’ Ùire.
Is dòcha gu bheil cuid a’ smaoineachadh nach eil e ceart a bhith a’ cuimhneachadh air rudeigin cho brònach aig an àm seo anns a’ bhliadhna. Ach is ann aig an àm-sa den bhliadhna a thachair e. Chan ann air 11 den t-Samhain a thàinig an cogadh mòr gu crìch, far a bheil mise a’ fuireach.
Agus tha e ceart, às dèidh 100 bliadhna, mu dheireadh thall, gu bheil a’ Phàrlamaid againn agus an dùthaich againn ga chuimhneachaidh cuideachd.
Following is the simultaneous interpretation:
On many war memorials around the country are written the dates 1914 to 1919. The second of those years recalls the treaty, signed at Versailles, that formally brought the war to an end. However, that was some seven months after the guns fell silent in November 1918. To many now, 1919 looks an odd date to mark the end of the war, but in at least one place it still makes its own brutal sense. In Lewis and Harris, the losses of the great war did not come to an end until new year’s day, and what happened that day has left a lasting impression on villages and families throughout the islands, right up to our own time.
As I say the words “what happened that day”, I am conscious that I have not yet actually said what it was that happened. However, perhaps there is something appropriate about that, as the matter was so raw that the people of the islands scarcely spoke about it for at least 60 years anyway. The Iolaire was a subject that was simply too painful to raise in polite conversation in any house. However, it is right that we are remembering it now, 100 years on, and I am very grateful that people from all sides of the Parliament are here today to do so.
This is what happened—the story of the Iolaire. On hogmanay 1918, His Majesty’s yacht Iolaire was leaving Kyle of Lochalsh. Ironically, she had a Gaelic name—“iolaire” means “eagle”—but the Royal Navy had no idea how to pronounce that, so “I-o-laire” stuck. She was full of sailors, most of them returning home after war service with the Royal Navy. That night, many of the families of the men who were on board were soon gathering on the pier in Stornoway. They were all hopeful that the young men would return home in time to bring in the new year with them and mark the end of the war in one go. Among many other reasons, those very aspects make the story of the Iolaire all the sadder.
It was a night of wild weather. Just a couple of miles away from the pier, at around 1.55 on new year’s morning, the Iolaire struck a group of rocks called the Beasts of Holm and sank within the course of two hours. It is thought that there were 280 people on board and that 201 of them died. All the while, just a couple of miles away, many of their families were still on the pier, waiting patiently. They had been patient for four long years. As one Lewis song goes,
“Alas, alas,
Their joy turned to mourning.
Before the morning sun rose
many an arm was without strength.
The word went about the place
that the warriors they awaited
were on their native shores,
lying drowned on the sands.”
For many days after that, the people of Lewis went out looking for remains on the shore and many of them found bodies. However, one in three of the bodies were never found and many were trapped in the Iolaire. By the end of January, the Royal Navy had advertised that the Iolaire was for sale for scrap.
Initially, nobody was completely sure who had boarded the Iolaire in Kyle and who had waited for the steamer, the Sheila, after the Iolaire. Many of those who got the Sheila walked as far as 50 miles from Stornoway to get home. I heard a story about one man who was in that situation. He eventually got home only to discover at the door of his house that his family were making preparations for his funeral. There are many other stories about that time, and it is good that the people of Lewis and Harris are telling them now. Not everyone in Scotland knows about the Iolaire, but they should.
There have been exhibitions and events this year, in Lews castle and in different villages, and many people saw the music and drama production about the Iolaire in Stornoway, as well as the paintings by Margaret Ferguson. I hope that there will be another event in the Parliament in March at which a new book, “The Darkest Dawn”, will be launched.
The loss of 201 people is a heavy one for any community to bear, but it is difficult to explain the scale of that for an island. What might the equivalent disaster represent in Glasgow, for example? We are probably talking about the equivalent of 5,000 families in Glasgow all losing a son on one day, as that was the scale of the impact that the Iolaire had on Lewis and Harris. Bear in mind, too, that the Iolaire came after a war in which that same community had already lost 1,300 people.
In the 10 years after the Iolaire, many in the islands lost hope. Throughout the 1920s, many went to Canada, Australia, the States and New Zealand.
At times, we tend to remember the great war in a slightly abstract way, but there is nothing abstract about the Iolaire. We will mark the centenary with services in Stornoway and near the Beasts of Holm on hogmanay and on new year’s day. Perhaps some will think that it is not right to remember something so sorrowful at this time of year, but this is the time of year that it happened.
Where I live, the great war did not come to an end on 11 November, so it is right that, after 100 years, at last our Parliament and our country remember it, too.