Skye's the Limit

The approach of a holiday involves some serious thought on what reading matter to take along. 

Those who have fallen for electronic book formats have no need to browse their bookshelves for a new or familiar creased spine or distinctive and friendly sleeve artwork. That is a terrible shame. In support of real books in texture and substance and the thrill of their actual volume, weight and density I tell the following tale. 

The book; A Summer in Skye. The Grid Reference 57.149464N, 5.940463W

It was a strange experience to actually sit and read a book in the very house in which it had been written back in the 1860's.

We had rented Ord House, a fine 1750's built gentrified farmhouse for two full weeks in August much to the dismay of our three children.  It was very remote in the lap of 20% inclines out of the loch shoreline and with, it is argued, one of the best sites for a private house in all of Scotland. 

The nearest mobile phone signal involved an 8 mile round trip on a poorly geared city bike across bleak moors under the constant disapproving gaze of sheep and Highland cattle who had no sense of the highway code and would loom or skit across your path oblivious of  impending impact risk. 

The nearest bright red telephone box was only about 100 feet away from the front door but of course that would never be considered for communication purposes. 

Under wet weather holiday house arrest for just about the full fortnight I retreated into the world of books. I had some inclination that I was close to one of the main settings for the book from Alexander Smiths superb detail on the physical landscape but it was not until a brief conversation with an islander in a gift shop that the true fact emerged. 

An impulse bid on-line for this hefty work left me with a copy withdrawn from a municipal library stock with hard cover and an ominous message on the inside cover not to return the book to the lending library if there was a contagious illness in the household. Perhaps a standard sticky insert for the 1950's library service. 

The text starts in Edinburgh with highly descriptive scenes of a bustling city and some not very complimentary remarks about the rougher residents of what are now the prime tourist spots. Well worth a read if you are in Edinburgh for any period of time.

The journey across Scotland has some general interest mainly reliance on horse and carriage and frequent stopovers at Inns. I was shocked by the bleak and poverty stricken life of the Skye islanders whose reliance on the produce of land and sea was regularly interrupted by the inevitable rain around seven feet over one extended and persistently wet period (in excess of 200 days continous). 

Alexander Smith was confined to his hosts house through much of his stay on Skye because of the rain and there are some excellent narratives on the experience of watching the incessant influence of moisture and its power in shaping life on the island. 

The book is very broad in its coverage of the history of Skye and a few chapters comment on the many legends and superstitions from a race of giant warriors to witches with stories of local fatalities amongst fishermen and the crofters. This sort of deep rooted folklore is very believable on a dark and stormy night in a holiday cottage miles from anywhere and with no points of reference or the comfort of streetlights or traffic noises. 

Any slight rattling of slates or rustling of trees is very foreboding in such a location. 

Anyone looking to actively walk in the Cuillin Mountains would be interested in relevant parts of the book as long as they are not travelling alone as some of the valleys and remote spots are evidently full of lost souls or the dispossessed. 

Some of the chapters are a bit tedious and heavy going very much in the style of Fennimore Cooper (who is mentioned) and can be speed-read without spoiling the best bits of the book. 

After my two week stay on Skye and faced with the prospect of a long motoring journey home I really enjoyed the description of Alexander Smiths own journey by slow boat which operated like a local bus service carrying boozy passengers, freight and livestock. 

An epic journey in itself. 

The man himself was deeply moved by his time on the island and this is infectious. It was a good holiday for relaxing with a book. I'm not sure if the rest of the family shared that sentiment.