80 years ago next month, the UK watched as one of its remotest outposts lost its natural inhabitants for ever after over 2000 years. But the place is still very much alive, as the inevitable circle of life there has not been broken.
I am talking about Saint Kilda, and the voluntary evacuation of its residual population of 36 people in August 1930.
St Kilda is not just one island but an archipelago of three main islands, the largest Hirta, Soay and Boreray, and many other smaller isles and stacks. Situated 40 miles north-west of Lewis it represents the last port of call before America a few thousand miles to the west.
Ironically, there is no ‘saint’ Kilda. The island is thought to derive its name from the Gaelic
pronunciation of the island name ‘Hirta’, but other Norse-based theories of the derivation if its name abound.
Hirta has the highest sea cliffs in Great Britain and houses the only settlement on St Kilda, Village Bay. The islands are made from granite and gabbro, remnants of an extinct volcano, the highest point rises to a majestic 430 metres above sea level, and in summer it enjoys a swelteringly hot temperature of 53 degrees F. And it has an annual rainfall of 55 inches. Remind you of anywhere?
At its peak the population reached 180 people, and a staggering 2000 sheep. But over the centuries, external influences began to open
up the possibilities of alternative ways of life to the islanders’ hard but healthy existence.
Bizarrely, religion is thought to have been the first destabilising effect as over-zealous ministers in the 18th century insisted on very lengthy daily services which interfered with the necessary tasks of everyday life. Tourism brought publicity and income, but it also brought disease which the inhabitants were ill-equipped to overcome. The First World War caused new contact with the outside world, such that most young men left the island after it.
Then four men died of influenza, there were crop failures due to lead pollution, and the final straw came when one woman died of appendicitis. This drove the remaining people to ask to be taken off the island, and on 29 August 1930, the remaining 36 people were evacuated to Morvern on the mainland.
But life on St Kilda did not die off then.
Hirta became permanently inhabited once again in 1957 when the Ministry of Defence leased the
island from the National Trust for Scotland as a missile test firing and tracking range. Each year, the islands are a temporary home to a group of volunteers who maintain the buildings and environment.
One recent group included a friend from Strathpeffer whose great great grand-father had been an inhabitant, and who had the most wonderfully moving experience seeing at first hand the way of life of his ancestors. And visits from cruise ships are a regular feature.
However, people have been vastly outnumbered by other inhabitants for centuries, because St Kilda has always been an important breeding ground for sea birds. It supports 90% of the world’s population of Petrels, 24% of the global population of gannets, 30% of the UK population of puffins, and thousands of fulmars. Overall it is believed to have over 80,000 pairs of breeding birds each year, a staggering number by any measure (it’s difficult to visualise what 160,000 birds look like). It even has its own species, the St Kilda wren and the St Kilda mouse.
These will be a permanent feature of St Kilda for generations to come because it is one of the most protected sites on the planet – a UNESCO World Heritage Site (one of only 24), a Scheduled Ancient Monument, a National Scenic Area, a Special Site of Scientific Interest, and an EU Special Protection Area. They don’t come more preserved than that!
This includes protection of a special rock called The Mistress Stone. It is here that young bachelors had to prove worthy of a fine wife. Essential to survival on the islands was the skill of balancing, teetering on craggy cliffs to catch sea birds and recover birds’ eggs, the main sources of food.
So every wooer had to stand on the Mistress Stone, a door-shaped rock high above a gully, and prove his love by standing with one half of his left foot-sole on the rock, his right leg extended out to the left of his left leg, and bowed forward with his hands on his right foot. A successful bowing posture in this contortion passed the test.
Failure, loss of balance, meant disaster. While many of us see life today as a balancing act, I am not sure we would be as keen to put our lives on the line as these brave youngsters, whatever the prize.
St Kilda also lives on in the arts. It has featured in the song ‘Edge of the world’ by Runrig, more recently in 2007 it was the subject of a Scots Gaelic opera performed simultaneously in six countries, and has inspired much prose and poetry.
And so as one door on life closes, others open up or simply continue, so that the inevitable circle of life ensures that St Kilda will be talked about two millennia hence.
Steve Jones
Image courtesy of
www.kilda.org.uk
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