For many Scots of a certain age, Lillian Beckwith is a name which may conjure up memories of compulsory reading lists at school. For others, evocative descriptions of the land and the people which subsequently inspired a trend in [Scotland’s Outer] island tourism which has never looked back.
Moving to Skye, and then to Soay in the 1940s, Beckwith wrote enchantingly of her exploits in running a croft and of her many interactions with her neighbours. [The neighbours, it is said, were less delighted to find themselves in print].
The Hills Is Lonely, The Sea for Breakfast and The Loud Halo feature Beckwith’s fictional community of Bruach struggling with a lack of running water, electricity and transport links, with laugh-out-loud accounts of seeking lost animals in a storm, or drunken exploits steering a rowing boat, bringing the community, and the weather, to life. How I loved these books as a child, dreaming of popping by for a ceilidh [tea and a chat] in an island home, which seemed so very far away from city living.
Revisiting them as an adult, while staying on Lewis and Harris, I see the old crofts and the landscape but, along with locals and visitors alike, appreciate the much modernised living conditions and mostly improved transport links.
In A. Maw, the islands have found themselves a modern-day Beckwith who writes with wit, and charm derived from a deep love of an island home.
‘So you want to move to the Outer Hebrides’ is less of a guidebook and more of a love letter about the land, the community and daily struggles which affect island life. It too will make you smile, linger on your memories of your last visit, and plan another.
A. Maw is clear in their intention that new residents are welcome if they make the effort to understand what they are taking on, rather than being lucky with a two-week window of sun and cloudless skies, deserted beaches, heather-speckled hills and lilting welcomes in every shop and café they come across.
If you love the islands, even if you’re not thinking of upping sticks and emigrating, A. Maw’s honesty will remind you of those you have met and can now call friends, of the hills and beaches, the windswept bogs and the tiny communities perched atop what appears to be a wilderness.
A. Maw reminds us that islanders, of course, lead rich and varied lives at home and overseas. As you meet them, weaving, farming, sailing, fishing, they too may just be visiting a place they call home. Do not, says A. Maw, ever assume anything.
Much of A. Maw’s small book reflects experiences of energetic permanent incomers, meaning well but without due thought or preparation. Those who have truly upped sticks and moved lock, stock and barrel based on not much more than a whim.
It is not written as a deterrent but as an open-hearted conversation and thought-provoker about a land and a community where living and loving are not always easy. As useful for visitors as those pondering a longer stay.
If you loved Lillian Beckwith, try A. Maw for your modern-day update.
And as a reminder to appreciate well-stocked shelves [amongst other things].
