8

RETURN OF THE TARTAN

 

by John R. MacQuarrie (Pugwash, Nova Scotia)

During the week of 3-10 August 1985, over 100 members of the Clan MacQuarrie visited Mull, Iona and Ulva. J. R. MacQuarrie, who had corresponded widely with members of the clan (and the author of this book) was a most enthusiastic participant. The following is his outline of some of the high points of the visit. ¹

 

The Inner Hebridean islands, those islands of enchantment, for centuries have meted out a sense of pride and poverty, and given an aura of auld lang syne to clan members who journey from far and near to visit the lands of their ancestors.

On the morning of 2 August, my wife Margaret and I met Chauncey MacQuarrie of Sydney, Nova Scotia, and Henry Graham of Southam, New Hampshire, USA at Prestwick Airport in Scotland. The four of us were to be together for the next three weeks, with Henry experienced at driving on the left side of the road, happily driving the new ranchwagon we had hired at the airport.

By two that afternoon we were in Stirling, where Henry, whose mother was a Cape Breton MacQuarrie, modelled and bought a new kilt in ancient MacQuarrie tartan.

The 100 miles remaining to Oban were a continuous picture for us. We arrived at our hotel in good time for a fine repast. After driving up the hill (we would say, mountain) to view the stone amphitheatre, McCaig's Folly, we returned to the hotel to get a good night's sleep, having lost sleep on the plane the preceding night.

Saturday dawned dull and cool with intermittent showers, but, along with ten other carloads of people, we were on the quay at 7:30 a.m. There was good food and good fellowship on the early morning journey by boat to the Hebrides.

It was there that we first met Jim and Pat MacQuarrie from Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA. This international flavour became more pronounced as the voyage and the day wore on.

After docking at Craignure after an hour's voyage, we covered quickly the ten miles to Salen on a good, two-lane highway. This was to be the only two-lane road that we encountered on the island of Mull.

Nevertheless, travel was easy compared to the travels of David Balfour, whose story we read in schoolbooks in Nova Scotia during the 1920s. That story had its beginning on Mull, and now our story was beginning on the same island - in an automobile.

At Salen, we turned left toward the west coast. Three miles later, a decision was made hastily when Henry asked, "Which way?" I suggested the road to the right; I could see 'Ulva Ferry' on the road sign, and I suppose I was overly anxious to see that isle that has so figured in MacQuarrie history and which was unwittingly inscribed on my mind when I heard older students recite the rollicking, if sad, poem, Lord Ullin's Daughter.

It was in 1960 that I found out, by chance, that it was a MacQuarrie who made off with the daughter of a lord of whom the last line says, 'The waters wild went o'er his child, and he was left lamenting'.

How fortunate we were that Thomas Campbell came to be a tutor in Mull in 1803, and then wrote the moving verse that concluded in tragedy.

Let us not forget the visit by chance of Dr. Samuel Johnson and his Scottish companion, James Boswell, to Ulva in 1773. They had ridden hard all day in the hope of getting to Inchkenneth, but it became late when they reached Ulva Ferry and they hailed a boat which took them across the narrow strait to Ulva and MacQuarrie's house where they passed the night pleasantly. It was publicity for the smallest clan, and here I was looking at the very crossing made by Dr. Johnson and Boswell in 1773. It looks to be a hundred yards, but is probably nearer three hundred yards wide.

Henry, always in good cheer and always ready to serve and make others comfortable, was not perturbed and drove back the six miles to the corner where I had enthusiastically advised him to go right - and wrong.

Bruce McQuarrie of Worcester, Massachusetts, USA, who organized all of this, had our reservations at Gruline Farm, owned by Dr. and Mrs. Thomson. Dr. Thomson quit the city race and bought Gruline Farm a few years back, and the apartments he created are lovely. Ours was in the Stable or so it was designated. Others were in the Barn, etc. It was a fine, compact set-up. The buildings, old and of stone with slates to shed the rain, formed a close where cars could be parked at night and where children of all ages could play by day.

It was not quite noon when we arrived, and within an hour of checking in we all walked the two hundred yards to Major-General Lachlan Macquaries's mausoleum. This stately tomb is maintained by the Australian government trust.

The most famous member the clan has produced, General Macquarie was born on Ulva in 1761. After stints in the British military, including a posting at Halifax, Nova Scotia, he was appointed to be governor of New South Wales, which until then was know for its convict colony at Botany Bay, adjoining the fine harbour which became the centre around which Sydney has grown.

General Macquarie was at least a hundred years ahead of his time. Australia quickly became the considerable force it is now because of this man, generating a government system with those people termed convicts.

Next we went to a hotel near Salen for a civic reception. There was no doubt that this was MacQuarrie Week on Mull and all of its inhabitants were part of it. The reception was followed by a banquet in the new Salen Hall and the ladies of the area proved they still have the ability and hospitality of which Sir Walter Scott wrote in his books. The week to follow was to become memorable!

Our assembly continued to grow. Sunday morning, the historian R.W. Munro and his enthusiastic wife Jean, also a historian, arrived at our 'Barn' apartment with Sandy MacQuarrie. Sandy was born 79 years ago in Twynholm, Dumfriesshire, Scotland. His grandfather was born on Ulva, and this was Sandy's first trip to Mull.

Sandy travelled to Kilninian church with us, and then, who should appear but Rosanne McQuarrie of Angel Fire, New Mexico. She had been corresponding these ten years with us in Nova Scotia, tracing MacQuarrie genealogy. She attended the 1983 Arisaig Gathering in Nova Scotia and has been a constant supporter. Her husband, the late general Claude M. (Jock) McQuarrie, died in 1984. Now here was Rosanne, driving her own vehicle on the left side of the road, making sure that everything MacQuarrie was to be known and savoured, a veritable inspiration to the clan she has taken under her wing.

The road to Kilninian is up the west coast, past Ulva Ferry a good six miles. Rosanne followed us in her own small car. The sun peeped through, and a throng of MacQuarries appeared along with friends and well-wishers.

The quaint stone church seats 150, and was full; the service was full of meaning. Four pastors participated; among them were Rev. Daniel MacQuarrie from British Columbia, Canada, and the Rev. Donald MacQuarrie, originally from North Uist, Scotland, and now minister of a church near Loch Lomond. It was the latter who spoke so meaningfully and with feeling appropriate to those of us who had come back this day to Mull. Indeed, one felt a true religious experience and, additionally, the feeling of an exile returning.

The parish minister was Rev. Alan Taylor, a young man who welcomed us genuinely. Everyone that I heard declared that it was a most moving service. When Rev. Daniel MacQuarrie gave the benediction, the sanctuary was hushed.

When we came out, the sun shone brilliantly and we drove the twelve miles back to Gruline Farm. In the next lane we found General Macquarie's house, hidden behind a mansion which belongs to the Mathers family. At the Macquarie mausoleum, Col. A.G. Miller, DSO, who was born in Australia but has chosen to reside in Mull, gave a very comprehensive overview of the life and times of the 'Father of Australia'.

Back at Gruline Farm we all had soup, sandwiches and haggis. Then on to Salen Church to hear Dr. Alan Macquarrie, a Glasgow University lecturer, speak on the history of Iona, preparatory to the next day's trip.

On October 19, 1773, Dr. Johnson and James Boswell landed on Iona. For both of them, Iona was the high spot of their tour. Similarly, it was a highlight for the clan MacQuarrie on August 5, 1985. Dr. Johnson was interested in the ruins that starkly confronted them, and wrote: 'We were now treading that illustrious island, which was once the luminary of the Caledonian regions... That man is little to be envied, ... whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona'.

The ruins of the nunnery are still to be seen. However on our visit it was the new and the restored and the on-going which was most important; Clan MacQuarrie actually had a religious service in Iona Abbey. Restoration had commenced in 1938 and now the abbey is functioning and well used.

We had been on the road at 7:30 a.m., but the scenery was breathtaking and we had stopped to take pictures in the morning sunlight of the hills, the ravines flowing full, and the view across the water to the isles of Ulva, Colonsay, Gometra and Staffa, and even a glimpse of the Treshnish Isles. So it was that 40 miles were traversed slowly, and we only just made the 10:30 a.m. Iona ferry.

Once across the mile of water, we four were blessed to have a fine horse-drawn shay pull us up the hill to the abbey gate. We entered just as Rev. Donald MacQuarrie of Loch Lomond commenced the service. The singing of psalm tunes and the delivery of a message meaningful to the larger family had steady and moving impact on us all. The service ended, we proceeded to the two seats in the Abbey with the MacQuarrie arms worked in needlepoint. Many were the pictures taken with members holding the cushions.

Tours of the buildings, especially the building housing the tombstones (no. 101 might be a MacQuarrie stone) and the gift shop took more time than we realized. We had good haggis soup at the Columba Hotel, and walked through the ruins of the nunnery to the post office, where I mailed a card to Pictou County.

Boswell, Dr. Johnson, Wordsworth and Sir Walter Scott all pondered the future of Iona. On that day it was easy for me to look ahead. The future seems assured. A ferry came to the island every half hour and there were a hundred people on every trip. The world knows and comes to savour.

That evening we were honoured by a visit from Rev. Donald MacQuarrie and his two sons. They were tenting within two miles of us. Mr. MacQuarrie stated that he was born on North Uist in the Outer Hebrides, and that he had no knowledge of how a MacQuarrie settled there in the first place. He was happy, though, that he had been able to purchase the old homestead, a stone house with a thatched roof.

On the fourth day of our trip Henry, Chauncy and I along with about 50 other people, were at Ulva Ferry for our trip to Staffa. We were all anticipating a visit to the island with the spectacular geology. The columnar basalt formation standing almost vertical has been called the kilted rocks or the kilted isle. However, as soon as the MV Puffin 2 came out of the sound of Ulva, the breeze freshened and soon the boat was waltzing and soon after that it was doing the highland fling. We were all very disappoint­ed when the captain said that it was too rough to land on Staffa, but the Puffin 2 circled the island and we took pictures of it and especially of the caves, including Fingal's Cave.

By early afternoon, we were back at Gruline Farm and away to our appointment at Duart Castle. Lord and Lady MacLean told us that he is one of the few people that still retain the title of Knight Baronet of Nova Scotia. We had lunch at Duart tearoom and then made straight away to Torosay Castle, where a fine wine and hors d'oeuvres repast, complete with bagpipe music, awaited the Clan MacQuarrie.

Torosay is only one mile from Duart as the crow flies. The whole district was owned by one house before 1689. The MacLeans succumbed to the Campbells and soon the castle was left as a ruin. It is on record that in the 1820s the then Duke of Argyll began to sell off parts of his estate and the parish of Torosay was acquired briefly by MacQuarries. In the 1850s the Campbells demolished the old Torosay castle and commissioned an architect to design a Scottish baronial mansion that was completed in 1858. Today, with its unsurpassed gardens, it is a showplace extraordinary.

Departing at 8:30, we had a flat tire on the way home. Henry, in resourceful fashion, promptly got us to a garage at Craignure and we got back to the farm in good time.

Henry, Chauncey, Margaret and I were in the car the next morning for the 30 mile ride to Tobermory, Mull's largest town. After six now familiar miles we passed Ulva Ferry, and in another six miles, taking care not to injure sheep or cattle, we saw again the fine stone church at Kilninian where we had attended the great MacQuarrie service. Onward we went through superb scenery and along often tortuous roads, but the single lane was always paved.

Calgary Bay is advertised as having white, sandy beaches, and this is true. By 12:30 we were in Dervaig where we stopped briefly, and an hour later we were on the steep descent into Tobermory proper. There we found the residence of Duncan and Peggy MacQuarrie, relatives we had visited in 1972. Their son Duncan is head of schools in Inverness and another son, Kenneth, is head of Gaelic services for the BBC.

At 3:00 we drove up another hill to the gathering at Neil MacQuarrie's summer home on the heights of Tobermory where we were treated to true highland hospitality. The scenery was superb and right on cue a large MacBrayne vessel appeared through a gap in the trees as it approached a dock in this storied harbour. It was here that a Spanish galleon was blown up in 1588, and the wreck still lies at the bottom of the bay.

Then we were off home via Salen, and it took only 45 minutes for the trip.

The next morning we three males went into town and mailed cards. The postmistress was a jolly diplomat and knew all about the Clan reunion.

That afternoon we all left to visit the grave site of Lord Ullin's daughter, and then it began to rain in earnest. It is one mile before Ulva Ferry and about three quarters of a mile down through pasture land. We parked part way down the rough track and soon were joined by the Don MacQuarries from Ireland and by Jim and Cathy McQuary, Xenia, Ohio, USA. Bruce had had a Celtic cross made to commemorate the tragic drowning in a storm of a MacLean girl over 200 years ago, and the MacQuarrie chief and ferryman who died with her. It was agreed that only a few of the hardier would venture through the storm, eerily like that of two centuries ago, to the unveiling ceremony.

Then it was back to Gruline Farm where I met Senator Heath Macquarrie's first cousin, Allan, from Powell River, British Columbia. It was still raining that evening when we drove to Salen centre to hear a fine discourse by Findlay McQuarrie, who lives in Edinburgh and works for the National Trust for Scotland. He taught us about Mull, Ulva and the world connection with the National Trust. Mr. R.W. Munro then spoke about the MacQuarrie book that he has agreed to write for us and urged everyone to participate and send him any family history and genealogical records they may have.

The sun shone brightly on the seventh day until about 10 a.m. We left a little early and tried to get to the cairn scene of the day before, but the gate was locked and we drove instead to Ulva Ferry. There we met the Don MacQuarries of West Germany. They are Nova Scotians in the Canadian Armed Forces, and I've corresponded with them.

Finally, as the wind had subsided enough for us to embark on the ferry, we left for Ulva. The island which had supported 600 people before the clearances was something to behold, with all four pipers welcoming us onto the wind and surf swept quay. The island is six miles long and two wide and, to the casual observer, aside from the concrete slip, electricity and motor vehicles, has not been changed much since the last chief sold it 200 years ago. Today it is owned by the Howard family who were our hosts. The people on the island fit perfectly the phrase used by Boswell when he recorded that in 1773 he and Dr. Johnson found MacQuarrie 'to be intelligent, polite and much a man of the world'.

Three landrovers appeared and transported those who chose not to walk three quarters of a mile to the church. The church is a gem of architecture and is in good, fresh repair (part of it had been adapted as a hall), and the electric lights seemed more dazzling than ever before.

The evening was one delightful surprise after another. A program, 'Lang's my arm', had been drawn up; the master of ceremonies, Mr. McGilp, who operates a garage in Tobermory, had been the gold medallist for Gaelic solo singing for all Scotland. Joining him in the program was the top female vocalist in solo singing for Scotland in 1984.² Both are natives of Mull. Along with the vocalists, we had the four pipers, two fiddlers, two piano accordion players, a guitarist and a pianist. There were two wee lassies to perform highland dancing, and the piper had to call Jamie Howard up to whistle so that he got the right tune for the sword-dance.

After the 100 people who were there had filed past the sumptuously laden tables, the entertainment began. Picture the scene. There we were in a locale that many would call remote and we were being treated to the best talent available on any stage anywhere. The people of Mull and the Howards of Ulva had gone 'all out' for Clan MacQuarrie.

During that evening, we met the regal Mrs. Howard, owner of Ulva, who graciously assured us that all members of Clan MacQuarrie would be welcome always. Her sons, Donald and Jamie Howard, were intelligent and unassuming hosts.

All good things must come to an end, and it was announced that Capt. Harrison of the ferry would like to have us all across on Mull by 10 p.m. Later, on the way back to Gruline farm, we discussed the Gathering and agreed that the ceilidh had been the most moving experience of our lives.

In the morning, we said our good-byes and drove Sandy MacQuarrie to the ferry at Craignure. He was to be met at Oban and would be home at Gatehouse of Fleet, 200 miles south by evening.

We returned the five miles to Fishnish and found several MacQuarrie cars in the line waiting for the Lochaline ferry. We got across to the mainland by noon and were the first off the vessel. Soon we could see the Munros following in their car and so we went on for some 17 miles, until we rounded Loch Sunart where the Munros turned towards Inverness and we took the scenic road through Arisaig to Mallaig where we had reservations for the night.

And so our tour continued; but the Clan MacQuarrie Gathering was over.

Sadly, we have to report that the writer of this chapter died at Pugwash, Nova Scotia, on Thursday 5 February 1987.

 

Notes and references - Chapter 8, Return of the Tartan

1. This chapter has been adapted from material that previously appeared in The Nova Scotian (Halifax, Canada) 25 Jan 1986, and Mac-Talla (MacQuarrie newsletter) Feb 1986. Permission granted by The Chronicle-Herald & The Mail-Star, Halifax, Nova Scotia, & the family of John R. MacQuarrie.

2. Both these people were participants in what is called The National Mod, a competition for Gaelic culture in Scotland.