Having spent much of the last week working on the bonnie island of Scalpay, I’d had a chance to get reacquainted with some folk who I have not seen for donkeys.
Little has changed on the island – especially the people there who are happy to chat all day long. You cross that bridge and it is like going back to a time when no one hurried doing anything.
Since Tony Blair opened the Scalpay Bridge in 1998, there have been a lot more tourists and particularly campervans coming across and, at times, the road gets a bit busy. The important thing is that it is still that charming green island which has a welcome for everyone. I had forgotten how friendly they are.
It happened that I was working on a Harris Tweed project in the community centre for a few days. In that time, I was invited to go for tea at several Scalpay homes. Like Mrs Doyle in Father Ted, one charming Scalpay housewife kept saying to me: “Go on, say you’ll come for tea.” But I’d work to do. And Mrs X was making a pie.
She then began: “Go on, go on, go on.” I still said no.
Afterwards, I collared her husband and asked why herself was desperate to have me round for a cuppa. He said: “She bet me £20 she would be able to do something to get a mention in your column in The P&J.” Haha, well done Mary. He definitely owes you a score now.
If I had accepted these invitations, I’d have turned green by the time I headed back over the bridge.
Other places in the islands are turning green with envy at Balallan, a village in North Lochs that I had to carefully drive the trusty Berlingo through to get to Scalpay each day.
Balallan is one of these odd places built on a hillside. It is also probably the longest village in the north of Scotland. Yes, I know Lochcarron is cited on some websites as being the longest, but that joint is just two miles from end to end. Balallan, though, is six kilometres, which is about four miles in old money.
Air do Shocair, man
Money could not now buy that bilingual sign as you enter Balallan, declaring: “Please Drive Carefully”. Under it is “Air do Shocair”. Not a single learned Gael I asked came up with that translation for Please Drive Carefully.
Some suggested: “Draibhaig Le Cùram” and “Siubhail Le Cùram”. So what does “Air do Shocair” mean? Er, well, something like: “Take It Easy”. Socair means comfort or easy or slow, I suppose.
My eagle-eyed passenger Steve wondered where he had come across the phrase “Air do Shocair” before. I suggested it was what you say when taking a tray laden with too many G&Ts from a bar to a table.
He said: “No, a chlown. I’ve got it.” It was from Peat and Diesel’s epic ditty, Calum Dan’s Transit Van. They sing:
“We all know a man like Calum Dan
And he drives around in a Transit van
Comes flying through Balallan at 106
He nearly lost it on the verge, ended up in the ditch.
Air do Shocair
Air do Shocair
Air do Shocair”
And so on… You get the idea. Pure poetry.
Air do Shocair sounds so laid-back. It is one of those phrases that makes you think it should translate as “take it easy, man” or “take it easy, dude.” Maybe Western Isles Council is trying to make the island of Lewis attractive to hippies, man.
When I contacted the council to ask what came first, the village sign or the lyrics, I think they scratched their collective heads for a bit.
The council spokesman said: “We’re pretty sure the sign came first… and delighted to have inspired a Peat and Diesel song.” Yeah, man. I think you did.
Brown-bagging it
While on Scalpay, I heard about an older island lady who went for a trip to Glasgow with relatives one blustery day recently. After the plane took off from Stornoway, the cailleach suddenly produced a pack of her favourite salmon sandwiches.
Her daughter was very cross. She said: “Mother, why have you got sandwiches? We’ll be at the hotel at teatime.”
Disappointed, the cailleach agreed. She’d have the bradan snack for supper. She pulled a brown bag from the back of the seat in front and put the sandwiches in it until then.
Turbulence began as they crossed the Minch and flew down by Skye. Some passengers were very sick. Soon, a stewardess came round and, seeing her brown bag, said: “Madam, I’ll take that from you.”
The cailleach replied: “Oh, no you won’t. I’ll be eating that later on tonight.” That’s when the stewardess turned green.
Iain Maciver is a former broadcaster and news reporter from the Outer Hebrides
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