But death lurks off the shore. A little treeless Island, obviously uninhabited. The seagulls are circling it, their loud screeches travel across the waves like warnings never heard. The view is good from Gruinard graveyard. Here, where the dead are buried, is the island close, just over a mile away, and it is more deadly than is thought possible: Gruinard Island. Anthrax Island.
Plockton is very pretty which is why it is almost never peaceful. It is a number one tourist destination and as packed in summer as the beaches of the Canaries.
The drowning of a young shepherd and his brother at Gripdyke, Lochlee. The first body to be interred in the graveyard of the new church of Lochlee was the Rev Inglis‘ mother in 1808. Many deaths followed, a few still very vividly remembered in the area for their futility and tragic circumstances. It is always... Continue Reading →
Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland, And we in dreams behold the Hebrides: (Canadian Boat Song) Calgary Bay, Isle of Mull. It looks west, towards Canada, whose Calgary took the name from the one on Mull. And it took the people, who used to live here. Like human waves going out... Continue Reading →