1. The summer-house
The summer-house, a substantial old bothy, represents what was usually the turning point for a longish walk along “the park” or machair from Hilton towards Rockfield. Shorter walks took us to “the bothy” (the first of the fishing bothies on that route, in my childhood a wooden one with steps we would sit on) or “over to Skaravak” and back. Skaravak was the rock of the sgarbh, Gaelic for cormorant, and they were a spooky treat for a child to see gathered on their great crag, big , black and somehow menacing. But when our legs were longer, we got to go “away over to the summer-house”, past the traces of abandoned drystane buildings by the shore, which stirred our imagination, past the “wireachan” (where the wire fence came down the hill to the sea), till we could see the series of heads (“cinn”) or headlands folding away behind and ahead of us. Strangely enough, there was never any thought of walking to Rockfield – that was different territory, somehow, and too far (there and back) for families in an afternoon. Rockfield was somewhere you got to by boat, or by car from the Port side. But now it’s a recognised walk, and strangers come to do it too. Fortunately such walkers are usually those who appreciate nature, and know how to close gates behind them – long may that last. Like most locals, I still never tire of the summer-house walk, and that view, especially lovely when the whins are out.
2. Tobar na Slàinte / the Well of Health
A walk in the opposite direction to the summer-house often took us “as far as the Well of Health”, well beyond the end of Shandwick Bay. We generally reached it via the shore, when the tide was further out, rather than on the cliffside, though when there without parents we also clambered happily over the big rocks above the tide if it was further in. I never heard it called “the wellie” back then – people knew that there were several (named) wells in the Shandwick and Nigg Hill area (or springs coming out of the rocks), and that was the name of that specific one, in English, or as used by my grannie’s generation, in Gaelic. The appearance of the well itself has changed over the years too, having had at least a couple of facelifts in my lifetime, making it more of a feature. While I can’t say I’m a fan of the concrete, I do understand the sense of it being something special that has evidently prompted the work. And the water is still running pure out of the rock, with the wee shells lined up to drink it from, and make a wish or say a prayer for someone’s recovery from illness. Water from the well is still used in some christenings today, a very Seaboard melding of beliefs.
3. The Hilton Stone
I watched this wonderful re-carving of the original Hilton Pictish Stone (now a highlight in the National Museum in Edinburgh) when sculptor Barry Grove was doing it in Paterson’s shed in the late 1990s, and was fascinated to think I was watching exactly what the original stone-carvers had done a thousand years ago, seeing the stone come alive under his mallet and chisel – it was actually a unique insight we wouldn’t have had if we’d been able to keep the original (some sort of compensation). Getting to that point was a real community project, and everyone was so proud of it when erected in beside the chapel site. It’s a great counterpoint to the Shandwick Stone at the other end of the Villages, and has always had its own story and place, both in Hilton and in the Seaboard community. It’s never been “just a replica” – it’s really “our” Pictish Stone, complementing the original base found at the chapel site which we did get to keep, proudly on display in the Hall. I take all my visitors there and not one fails to be impressed.
4. The Porst
This unspectacular photo nevertheless is very special to me, as it was the playground of my childhood and scene of the livelihood of generations of my fishing families. Sometimes it’s sandy, sometimes it’s stony – whatever the storms bring us. It’s just one of our predominantly Gaelic local coastal names, spelled Port but pronounced /porst/, meaning port, mooring or harbour – and that alone is history in a word. On the shore you can see stràilleach (stranded seaware), and you’re looking over the làraichean (long line of rocks) towards Port Cullach (our favourite sandy beach) and Skaravak.
We need to hang onto our old names – they keep our spoken heritage current, and tell our stories.
5. Uilleam’s Pool
This is another Gaelic name, and a pool known to all children as the best place in Hilton for rockpool exploring. Who Uilleam was no one seems to know, but somehow it makes the pool special to have it named after a real person – there are other spots along the shore named after long-forgotten locals too, like Tom and Mary Port, Jessieport, Eilean Sheòrais. Their names resonate down the generations and make us feel part of a continuing history, and part of that community that still knows them.
6. Net poles
The poles are now all too rarely used for their traditional function of drying nets, but they are a very visible reminder that inshore salmon fishing was until recently a way of life for the Villages, and fishing remains in people’s blood. We’re lucky still to have enough experienced fishing family members to be able to pass on to younger generations the skills and the related (mainly Gaelic) vocabulary of handling the boats and nets, and with knowledge of the fishing stations and routines. It’s good to see these practices being demonstrated and learned both on site and at the Fisherfolk Festivals and other events, and to have the Paterson Stores as a repository of gear, records, pictures and stories. Such a rich combination of material, practical and oral treasures should, I hope, not just be of interest to visitors, but make us realise what a special, rooted culture we continue to be part of.
7. Creels
This is a favourite photo motif of mine, an entirely authentic pile of lobster creels and associated paraphernalia in a spare corner behind a shed close to the Porst, not arranged to be picturesque for the tourists, or prettied up into a stereotyped “mock-maritime” decoration. What adds to it is the rust patterning and texture of the typical corrugated iron shed, part of the inevitable decay of that long-used traditional material, that adds to the sense of a living, ongoing activity. I think it is actually much more attractive to the “slow tourists” we would hope to see on the Seaboard than anything artificially created for them would be.
8. Shore Street, Hilton
Another scene that would be overlooked by most locals as they are so used it, and by visitors who don’t have a frame of reference for it. The name is a reminder that street names came late to the Villages – this was just the row of houses nearest the shore, and Back Street was also just that, just as the Porst is exactly what it says. They were descriptions rather than names. The other reason I picked this one is the shed – sheds (black tarred ones) were such a key element of life in the fishing days, when storage for gear was essential, and fish was also smoked in sheds in the (very functional) gardens, and there were henhouses and outside toilets too. This one, and the peeling black door beside it, are a reminder of these older uses for sheds, with much-painted wood and corrugated iron roofs. There’s also the washing line, good to see that that tradition remains – solar and wind power before it became fashionable. “Good drying weather” is still a common phrase.
9. Compass on the Sculpture Trail
This photo doesn’t do its subject justice, but it shows the compass that’s part of the Seaboard sculpture trail. A very appropriate symbol, not just for the seafaring association but as a moral compass as well, commemorating the traditionally strong Presbyterian faith of the communities. I’m particularly pleased that it has the Bible quotation (Psalm 107, v.23) in Gaelic as well as English, a reminder of the fact that Gaelic as a day-to-day language lasted much longer in the fishing villages than inland, right up to my grandparents’ generation, and is still reflected in Seaboard speech patterns. “Luchd-longeis thèid a mhuir ‘s a bhios ri ghnìomh an uisgibh buan” – They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters, the verse that gave our Seaboard heritage “bible” Down to the Sea, its name.
10. The old Free Church
Which brings me to my last image, the old Free Church standing in the fields above the Villages, once a focal point for families from all over the parish, whether farming (as the photo shows) or fishing. It was a long way from any village, so that all parishioners had a similar walk to that central point. My mother told me of the two (long!) services on Sunday mornings, first Gaelic then English, both of which the adults and older children would go to, while the younger ones, and any non-Gaelic speakers, would make their way up the hill for the English one. My mother as a child enjoyed sitting outside waiting for the Gaelic service to be over, and listening to the glorious sounds of Gaelic psalm-singing – and remembered particularly the soaring voice of a young Belle Ann MacAngus. This was also the church of the Rev. John Ross, who went to the Far East as a missionary and translated the Bible into Korean, for which Korean Christians commemorate him to this day, and is why they have developed strong links to the Seaboard. Still a local landmark, though sadly disused (and partly repurposed), and provoking curiosity in passing visitors.