THE LOVER

I was just two months old when my father and mother and five of us children - three daughters and two sons - left Glaic at Bousd to take up residence in a thatched cottage at Elleraig. Another five of the family were born there.

Elleraig was lovely in the summertime, especially when it was high spring tide and the sun shining.

Whenever it was low spring tide my brother and I, at the ages of six and four, were on the beach searching for whelks or digging for razorfish which we called spout fish.

We also did a lot of digging for lugworms which father used for bait on the flounder line that had three hundred hooks. It was hard work.

The fish were lovely and plentiful in those days.

We as youngsters did a lot of hard work. There was no income in the family except for what Father earned at fishing in the summer. In the winter he worked at Gallanach farm ditching and draining. We grew our own crop of potatoes. Father would cut seaweed and we carried it up above the high water mark. Then some kind farmer or crofter gave us a loan of a horse and cart to take it to the planting ground.

I was two years of age when the Fourteen Eighteen War broke out between France and Germany and, of course, Britain and Canada had to join France.

Four of my uncles fought in France. Two got slightly wounded, one got gassed but they all survived. Two cousins also served; one in the Navy, the other in the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. The one in the Argylls, a lieutenant, got a bullet through his arm but he carried on. Both cousins survived.

During that war there was a lot of material getting washed ashore on Coll from cargo boats damaged or sunk by submarines. I remember one winter a lot of oil barrels were washed ashore. They were salvaged by locals and shipped to the mainland.

I also vividly remember one Summer morning about 4 am, my eldest sister who was sleeping in the end bedroom shouting to Father, who was in the small bedroom off the living room - "There's a man standing outside looking in!" Dad got up and looked out. He saw the man hurrying away but couldn't make out who he was and we never heard anymore about him. He could have been off a German submarine.

Shortly after that incident my brother and I were digging for shellfish on the beach when heavy gunfire started away to our left. We eventually learned that this was a German submarine attacking the Royal Mailboat, The Plover, that left Oban every second day with mail, passengers and supplies calling at Coll, Tiree, Barra and Lochboisdale returning the next day on her inward journey to Oban.

Aboard that day of the attack was a navy gunner on leave going home to Barra or Uist. He took over the light gun that was fitted to the bow of the Mailboat. I heard later that he was very accurate in his aim. The submarine dived under; they never saw or heard of it again.

When the submarine started the attack the Captain of The Plover gave orders to launch the lifeboats and get the passengers clear with a seaman in charge of each boat. They were eventually picked up and taken to their destinations. The only damage to the Mailboat was to her name; the 'P' was blotted out. She arrived back in Oban as 'The lover'...

Hugh MacKinnon