The journey to the island of Barra in the Outer Hebrides, 85 miles off Scotland’s northwest coast, is among the most dramatic you can undertake in this part of the world – or anywhere.
A ferry to Barra’s town of Castlebay takes almost five hours from Oban, but the weather is the boss so travel plans must come with a caveat. The more classic route is to fly in from Glasgow, which takes roughly an hour on a whiny Loganair turboprop.
There is no runway on Barra. The pilot plonks the plane down on a tidal sand flat. When I visited in spring last year before the UK’s general election, the flight eased down on to the beach from an unseasonably calm, azure-blue sky. It was like landing on a pillow.
Yet if the wind had been howling and the clouds low, as is often the case on Barra, the approach to the island would have been a much bumpier experience, and probably a risk to the sanctity of one’s stomach.
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Instantly, I was smitten. I loved the intrepid journey, the island’s wild beauty, and the casual, facetious humour of Barra’s 1,200 or so residents.
Before setting off, I had inquired of a local where I might rent a car. He gave me a mobile for another man, who took my first name and said he’d see me on the beach when I landed.
“Car for Mark,” announced a man as the dozen of us who had disembarked the flight trudged up from the sand. “That’s me,” said another passenger.
There were two of us on the same flight, with the same first name, hiring cars. “A rush of Marks today,” said the man, after we finally caught up. He jumped into the passenger seat to take payment. I asked if he needed a security deposit – standard for car rentals. He looked at me like I’d two heads and a faint smile touched his lips.
“Don’t worry – I’d find you,” he said as he jumped out, chuckling.
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To me, Barra was Scotland as distilled as a malt whisky. Yet it also felt a little like rural west of Ireland. The island is named after St Finbarr – also known as St Barr – a 7th century bishop of Cork. Unlike the Presbyterian northern end of the Hebridean archipelago, most of Barra’s residents are old school Catholics.
The region’s MP when I visited was Angus Brendan MacNeil, once of the Scottish National Party (SNP). He ran as an independent last year but lost the seat. Before that, the Barra man and I had darkened the doors of a few pubs around Westminster.
In recent weeks, MacNeil, whose mother was from Waterford, got back in touch. There had been a campaign on the island to raise money to replace a locally-beloved but crumbling old statue of St Barr in the old natural harbour at Northbay.
MacNeil – Barra is the home of that clan – said the local statue fundraising committee had just received a big donation, hitting its target years ahead of schedule.
The original concrete statue of Barr holding aloft a shepherd’s crook had been commissioned by a local priest – also a MacNeil – 50 years before from local artist, the late Margaret Sommerville.
“When I say commissioned, I mean the priest probably mentioned it to Margaret after mass one day,” said Angus Brendan MacNeil. The wild Scottish weather had corroded the statue over the years and Barr’s crook had fallen away, along with his hands.
The original plan was to raise perhaps £10,000 a year for 10 years to fund a more durable statue. The effort was led by locals Michael MacKinnon, Theresa Irving and Michael MacNeil, yet another distant clan relative.
“Fair play to them,” said the former MP MacNeil. “They sold merchandise all over the place. In a little over a year, they had raised £20,000 on an island of 1,200.”
Recently, MacNeil said a wealthy Barra-born businessman and friend of his, Iain MacNeil (“he’s probably another relative”) got in touch. The businessman owns the successful maritime books publisher, Witherbys – a Barra boy who done good.
Iain MacNeil asked Angus Brendan MacNeil to set up a zoom with the statue committee of Michael MacNeil and the others.
“I was on the call. Iain asked them how much they were short,” said Angus Brendan MacNeil. “They told him they still had to raise over £80,000. He said he’d give them £85,000, and to just get on with it. I thought: ‘bloody hell!’”
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The committee has commissioned a bronze replacement, one-and-a-half times the size of the original, from Skye artist Stephen Tinney. The old Irish bishop will be back in all his glory soon.
“People on the island can’t believe it is happening,” said Angus Brendan MacNeil.
“Folks like living here. They are proud of our little island of Barra. I spent 19 years on a hamster wheel down in Westminster. Now, I wouldn’t live anywhere but here.”
