The islands of the Outer Hebrides west of the Scotland mainland have probably been occupied by people for more than 14,000 years, a time when their geography was quite different to the way it is today. At that time, the ocean surface was far lower – perhaps 80 metres lower – and what are today islands separated by ocean were joined, or at least closer together. Recollections of these times are buried in many Hebridean stories, some of which I feature I discuss below. Some are also discussed in my 2021 book Worlds in Shadow, more details of which can be found here, and in an article in the journal Geoarchaeology published at the end of 2021 in collaboration with four UK-based and three France-based scientists.
The earliest written account we have of the Hebridean island of St Kilda, sometimes termed “the island on the edge of the world” on account of its uncommon isolation, is that by one Martin Martin who visited there in the year 1697. Not imagining his readers would be especially interested in the islanders’ ancient stories, he aired these only briefly, including one about a female warrior who was ‘much addicted to Hunting, and that in her Days all the Space betwixt this Isle and that of Harries [Harris Island], was one continued Tract of Dry Land … ‘Tis said of this Warrior, that she let loose her Grey‐hounds after the Deer in St Kilda, making their Course towards the opposite Isles’. Traditions claim that the ruins of her house (Taigh na Banaghaisgeich) are still visible on St Kilda – see below.
If the St Kilda tradition talks of the warrior hunting on the ground connecting her home island to that of Harris, well there is also a parallel story from Harris about a former Princess of Harris who hunted between there and St Kilda. Our research suggests these stories may be plausible recollections, preserved in oral traditions, of times when there was a lot more dry land between the two islands, perhaps more than 10,000 years ago. Have a look at Martin’s original words, from his 1753 book –
Elsewhere in the Outer Hebrides, there are comparable stories. Many refer to changes in the geography of the island of North Uist and the smaller islands offshore. Here is a map of the area.
One of my favourites is the story about when the island of Taransay was so close to Losgaintir, about one hundred metres wide, that a person could throw a stone across it. Today the gap is almost two kilometres. The full story was recorded in the 1880s – here it is.
Another set of stories recall when the islands of Pabbay and Berneray were so close that people could easily shout or throw things over the gap between the islands, today 3.3 km apart. In addition, the people of Boreray Island once grazed sheep on a now-vanished island (Eilean nan Uan) but this was ‘washed away’ and is now marked by the shoal named Oitir nan Uan, probably today’s McIver Rocks. Our research suggests that these stories may be several thousand years old.
Finally, we might cite the (now-uninhabited) Heisker or Monach islands where in the 1870s, in her “felicitous Gaelic” elderly Mary Mackay related the stories of her ancestors about when these islands were connected to the North Uist mainland. The last connection formed an isthmus – the Gaelic word for isthmus-skerry is Aoi-sgeir, anglicized as Heisker. As the ocean surface rose, Mary Mackay recalled that her ancestors saw that “the isthmus by degrees gave way to fords, and the fords broadened into a strait four and a half miles wide and four fathoms deep. Tradition still mentions the names of those who crossed these fords last, and the names of persons drowned in crossing”. Our research suggests that these stories are likely to be more than six thousand years old, passed on faithfully across hundreds of generations to reach us today. Ancient stories from Australia are known to be of a similar age, as discussed here and in my 2018 book The Edge of Memory.
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