From St Kilda to Coll: Islands Talking to Each Other
 
On the 26th June 1998, far out into the North Atlantic, a small group of people gathered together on a slipway below the deserted village on Hirta, the largest of the St Kilda islands. That day was a Friday and most of the group were looking forward to returning to the mainland after a fortnight's spell working on the island.

That's right - working. Nobody these days goes to St Kilda for a relaxing holiday. If you want to visit the island group, it has to be under the aegis of the National Trust of Scotland, who organise work parties, repairing and conserving the buildings and archaeological sites. For the St Kilda group are very special. They have risen from being a National Nature Reserve in 1957 to a Biosphere Reserve in 1976, an SSSI in 1984, Scotland's first World Heritage site in 1987 and finally a European Community Special Protection Area in 1992. They are Eilanan Urramach - Honoured Islands.

The group was tired, yet felt uplifted by the unique experience of living and working on Hirta - they now belonged to an elite band of people who could say that they'd done something of worth for the islands. Feelings were mixed: some were unsure of a new-found 'isolation syndrome' and wondered how they would cope with the return to mainland life. Others would have been glad the adventure was over. All were sure that Hirta had marked their lives indelibly.

Two men (their names were Michael and Hugh), both experienced leaders of the work parties, had earlier organised the construction of two small ships and it was the occasion of their launching which was the reason for the gathering. Michael's group had sealed 21 postcards and 1 letter in their boat. Hugh's party had roughly the same number stowed aboard. As the sun sank lower towards the western horizon, the tiny boats with their attached fishing buoys were pushed away on an ebb tide. The bright yellow floats and white hulls made the boats visible quite far out east to sea, but gradually they were lost to sight and the group broke up.

They trudged back up the 'main street' to their houses for one last drink together, speculating where and when their messages to loved ones and friends would, if ever, be read. The tradition of sending mailboats from Hirta dates from the late 1870s, when a desperate crew from a shipwreck grasped at the thinnest of straws and sent a message via the Atlantic currents, wind and hope. An Austrian ship (yes, Austria had a navy once) the Petri Dubrovacki foundered off Hirta on January 17th 1876. Her captain and eight crew were forced to live alongside the islanders, who had little enough food and clothes to spare at a time of normal winter hardship. Everyone knew that an emergency which excluded nobody was developing.

John Sands, a mainland writer of Scottish life, was also on Hirta at the time, observing the ways and lives of the St Kildans. He had already remarked in his journal that if the islanders found themselves in difficulty (from lack of food or disease) the normal method of attracting attention was to light a beacon fire on a hilltop. The St Kilda group can be seen from most high ground in the broad north-south arc of the Outer Hebrides. But high ground in those days was rarely visited by man and a beacon 60 - 70 miles away is only seen well at night. Sometimes a fishing vessel might also relay news, but winter storms invariably made the efficiency of any communication doubtful indeed.

Sands had noticed that the islanders used reeds in their handlooms. When he asked where they came from, the reply was that they had been washed ashore infrequently on the village beach, presumably from the south. Sands reasoned that the strong current in the Atlantic was responsible (the Gulf Stream). By extending the argument, he now thought that the same method could be used to send letters requesting help to the mainland or closer islands.

His first mailboat attempt was fashioned from a log long-washed ashore. He sealed a note in a pickle jar and the Austrian sailors helped him to ballast the little vessel, made her waterproof and attached a small sail. On the deck he branded a couple of words: 'open this'. He didn't launch it straight away, but waited for a favourable north westerly so that a landing might be possible on the Hebridean Uists. On the 30th January another mailboat was sent, this time fashioned from a net float, rigged with a bottle attached and also had a small sail. It enclosed a letter from the ship's captain to the Austrian Consul. Sands had less faith in this vessel, but history records that it reached Birsay Island in Orkney on the 8th February: it had travelled over 230 miles in 9 days. The Lloyd's agent in Stromness then forwarded the message to London.

Sands' log-boat was launched on February 5th and it was found on a sandbank near mainland Poolewe on February 27th. Alerted by the Orkney message, HMS Jackal arrived at Hirta on February 22nd and took Sands and the Austrians back to the mainland. Later, the Austrian government donated £100 to the islanders which was converted to foodstuffs and delivered by the owner's boat later in the year.

Thereafter the St Kildan's communicated by mailboat on a number of occasions: sometimes it saved them from starvation when the fulmar harvests were particularly poor. A standard construction was adopted: a lump of driftwood was hollowed out and a letter (with a halfpenny or penny for postage) was enclosed in a tobacco tin then sealed with pitch, fixing it to the boat. Later versions used an inflated sheep's bladder or stomach with an attached flag for visibility. Mailboats have been found as far as Norway, but as the 20th century wore on, they increasingly became a tourist curiosity.

But there was one occasion in recent times when the mailboat could have played an important and life saving role. In May 1926, all the St Kildans contracted 'flu from trawlermen delivering newspapers and mail: even the resident nurse fell ill. The government of the time felt that a radio transmitter was a luxury the islanders could do without. Normally, visiting trawlers could have relayed a message for medication, but 1926 was the year of the General Strike and fishing fleets were part of the protests.

The situation on Hirta grew desperate and the very young and elderly were hit the hardest. The nurse and a few of the younger men struggled to a hilltop with bonfire material to alert a passing ship or the Outer Hebrides. There was no response and four of the islanders died. Food supplies (other than fulmars) were also falling to a dangerously low level. There is no record of mailboats being sent at this time, but I'm sure the fitter islanders must have considered sending them as an option.

A report written later about this incident by the supervising constable helped to seal the fate of the 37 remaining islanders. A further epidemic (of wet eczema) in October 1929 finally convinced the health authorities that Hirta's occupants were becoming more of a medical liability, even with a nurse in residence. Further shortages of food and a realisation by the younger islanders that a better existence could be had on the mainland led to the final evacuation in August 1930.

But what has all this to do with Coll?

On July 13th 1998, I found Michael's mailboat on Traigh Gharbh, north of Gallanach (grid ref NM 224626). It had travelled a minimum of 130 miles in 15 to 17 days. After filling in the cards with the grid reference, latitude, longitude and my address, they were taken to the Post Office for despatch. The following day, the Postmistress, Cathie MacLean, told me that another mailboat had been found a day earlier, this time north of Torastan, under a mile from the other boat! I've since learned that both boats were indeed sent off on the same falling tide.

Now, can anyone explain to me how two separate lumps of wood, unpowered, floating over 130 to 150 miles of open sea and completely unable to steer themselves, can come ashore at the same time on the same island - let alone nearly in the same bay?

At that time, Iceland, the Faeroes and all of Scandinavia were enjoying warm, sunny weather and a significant high pressure region moved slowly across the high polar latitudes. This system caused strong northerly and north westerly winds to, move towards the British Isles, with consequent heavy swell.

I am reminded by my wife that CalMac's new ship, the Clansman, was seen bound for Barra at this time and was certainly being treated to some interesting bow waves. Tides were also high then, putting the mailboats on the high water mark. The mass of the boats was probably nearly the same. Hugh's boat probably arrived earlier and Michael's boat may have lain undiscovered for a couple of days. If the boats had had a simple sail (something like a lazy jib) their journey would certainly have been quicker with favourable winds. Michael's boat had a thick copper strip nailed as a keel: it was found the right way up and buried in the sand.

The boats very nearly missed Coll and would have gone further south if they had, fetching up on Mull or the Ardnamurchan peninsula. Whatever the case, I doubt whether such an accurately timed double landing has occurred before on the same small island. Coll therefore deserves at least a special mention in the fascinating history of the St Kilda mailboats. Who knows how many other undiscovered historic mailboats lie under the extensive sandy beaches and dunes on Coll's western shores'? And both leaders of the work parties are to be congratulated for maintaining a tradition which stirs the hearts of our island race.

C. John Hill