from the slipway to the lighthouse. The roofless ruin of St Ninian’s Chapel, pre-14th century, is beside a knoll within the burial enclosure. It has a stone basin or piscina set in the wall under one of the window embrasures and in the corner a worn Early Christian slab is incised with a cross. Near the centre of the burial ground is a conspicuous cruciform-shaped stone nearly two metres high and just west of the chapel are the footings of a small square structure. A 1630 record states: ‘at the syde of that Chappell there is a litle well or compass of stones. . . And they say that the bones of certaine holie men that lived in that Illand is buried within that place.’ It was a Sanda tradition that if there was a severe storm when the fishermen were still at sea the islanders would gather in the burial ground, say a prayer for them, and then solemnly pour a cup of fresh water on the ground.
Ian stayed to photograph the chapel ruins while Peter and I set off to see the lighthouse. Peter, at six foot five inches, is a useful spare mast but with his long legs he could be wearing seven-league boots. A gentle stroll can become a marathon. There was a cool wind, but the valley is sheltered and traps the sun, so our sailing jackets and jerseys were discarded by the roadside. The island had not been seriously farmed for many post-war years but now the fences had been repaired, sheep were grazing peacefully, and the owner’s tractor could be heard fitfully in the distance. The lighthouse, which is on a rocky promontory on the south shore, is called ‘The Ship’ because, to an imaginative person on a misty day, it has that appearance. It was built in 1850. There is a huge natural stone arch beside it which frames a distant view of Ailsa Craig. There was only time for a very quick sketch before returning to Jandara.
When we climbed back on board, hot and thirsty, we found lunch prepared and Craig smiling happily, cool and relaxed.
‘The Ship’ lighthouse
The ruined chapel on Texa
TEXA
. . . There are some isles on the coast of Islay, an island Texa on the south-west, about a mile in circumference . . .
In spite of its name Texa has no connection with the Lone Star State, although I believe an American couple now own it. Abbot Adomnan of Iona referred to ‘Oidecha Insula’, meaning the island of (monastic) instruction, and this is said to be the derivation of its unusual name although I prefer ‘Tech-oy’ which means simply ‘House Island’ in Early Irish and Norse.
Lying off the south coast of Islay it was another of those small islands (a mere 120 acres) which was more or less on the direct route for Irish missionaries travelling to and from Scotland in the 6th century. Cainnech, or St Kenneth, was said to have left his pastoral staff behind after visiting Iona. Columba found it, blessed it, and cast it into the sea and Kenneth later discovered it washed up on the shore of Texa.
We anchored Jandara in the bay below the small ruined chapel. This is Lord of the Isles’ territory, and just across the kyle is Lagavullin Bay and the prominent ruin of Dunyvaig Castle where the King of the Isles’, Somerled’s, powerful fleet used to anchor in the 12th century. The chapel was built in the late 14th century by his descendent, Ragnald, son of John of Islay, and the shaft of a cross which stood beside it was decorated with Ragnald’s head. It is the earliest sculptured stone portrait of any member of the house of Somerled and it is now in the museum in Edinburgh. Round about the church bits of walling show through the turf and there are regular ridges which may well mark the remains of early monastery buildings. They indicate the position of at least five buildings. Another ruin stands some distance apart from the chapel – the abbot’s house maybe? A small well to the east is dedicated to St Mary – ‘Tobar Moireig’.
It is easy to imagine living a fairly comfortable monastic life on this peaceful spot. It is on record that Texa’s church was endowed with large estates in the south of Islay so it was quite wealthy and the island supported about thirty native ‘Texans’. It is revealing that in 1608, Andrew Knox, Bishop of the Isles, wrote a letter from Texa to King James VI asking if he could retire there – ‘. . . seeing my ould aige dayle crepis on’.
On our first visit – a damp day in early summer – the ground was blanketed with a mist of bluebells and feral goats watched us warily from a distance. They were in small groups but there are probably about eighty or so in total. The wild goats of Jura are a deep chocolate brown but Texa’s are multi-coloured which suggests mixed domestic stock.
On the ground overlooking the kyle and some distance beyond the jetty there is a renovated cottage/bothy which the owners use occasionally. This is the only habitable building – lovely in the summer – but a lonely place to stay on a winter’s night.
On the other side of Texa there is a cave called Uamh nam Fear – ‘the Men’s Cave’ – which was probably a hideout from naval press-gangs. They particularly liked to raid islands because the able-bodied men were such excellent sailors. It was not their concern that an island needed its menfolk to survive and many of the small islands were depopulated by this practice.
On the Islay coast, Loch an t-Sàilein, reached by a circuitous route past Dunyvaig Castle and two distilleries, provides a more spacious anchorage than Lagavulin Bay. It is sheltered by a tidal island and a vast plethora of rocks. The sea barrels in between them and whips up a vicious froth – like over-boiled cullen skink. A good spot from which to visit the distilleries but not my favourite anchorage.
A sailing friend – a retired surgeon – in patched pink pants, whose ‘characterful’ cottage overlooks the loch, assured us that there was a short-cut through the rocks – ‘Easy as pie, old boy! – Just follow the chart of ’54.’ His wife smiled sweetly as he kindly presented Jandara with a copy. It was dated ‘1854’ and like most charts of the time was stippled with soundings like a pointillist painting. A collector’s item certainly – but we didn’t try the short-cut.
CARA
. . . The isle Caray. . . affords good pasturage, and abounds with coneys. There is a harbour for barks on the north-east end of it. This island is the property of MacAlister of Lergy, a family of the Macdonalds. . .
Sunlight was sparkling on the water when we sailed to Cara. Monkshaven, our anchorage opposite Cara House, is not a particularly sheltered spot but the conditions were ideal with a mere breath of breeze. The house, which was built about 1733 as a residence for the tacksman, is a dour two-storey stone building with a slated roof standing proud and lonely and staring across the Sound of Gigha towards Kintyre. It was June and the low-lying peaty ground was a sea of wildflowers as the marshy conditions here keep the bracken at bay.
Cara has only one permanent resident these days but you won’t find him in any census records. ‘He’s a neat little man, dressed in brown, with a pointed beard,’ Morton Macdonald of Largie reported to the Observer in 1909. He was referring to the famous Brownie of Cara who is said to be the ghost of a Macdonald murdered by a Campbell. Tradition says that he inhabits an attic room in Cara House, and that the laird and minister always raise their hats to him when they step ashore on Cara, and so should everyone else.
Some years ago, when staying (boatless) on Gigha, I was negotiating in the hotel bar with a fisherman to take Jean and me to Cara. The deal was struck but in subsequent conversation Jean happened to mention that her mother was a Campbell. ‘There is no way then that I can take you to Cara,’ said the fisherman. ‘The Brownie would be very upset’. Persuasion was absolutely useless and the trip had to be abandoned.
On this