I had not returned to the Island for several years. It is no longer the isle of my memories but a sad, neglected place.
The back of the pier wall has been demolished due to frequent storms, but otherwise, the harbour gives the same refuge as it did when it was built in 1956, after over six years of argument and counter-argument between the islanders, the local council and The Scottish Home Department, it was finally completed at a cost of £30,000.
These are the workmen who took time from their farms and fishing to build the harbour. In the photo are three generations of my family. My grandfather, (middle back row) my father (far right second row) and my brother (far left front row)
The engineer was Jake Lindsey who lodged with us. He was a lovely, friendly man and remained friends with the family until his death. (He is not in the photo)
The house where I was born on 10th October 1946, always known as Eben's, sadly being slowly taken over by nature.
The trees at the bottom of our garden, or at least what I saw as trees, appear nothing more than overgrown hedging. The nettles are rampant.
The whole island should be renamed Rabbit Island, as the rabbits seem to have taken over.
The view from a window that once held glass and curtains.
Once upon a time, these houses were filled with families and pets. Animals would be grazing the fields, other fields would be filled with various crops. vehicles and walkers would be on the roads.
Unfortunately, My grandmother's house, Garrispow, is not one of them. I remember that front porch. Three pots of geraniums sat in the window, red white and pink, their scent filling your nostrils the minute you entered. The garden had daffodils and poppies. I dug up some of the double-faced daffodils and took them home with me. They have followed me from house to house until they got lost among others of their kind in the gardens of Scaraben.