Eye witness

After the storm (26 October 1995)

It got itself up in a hurry, the storm.
We could hear it tearing its heart out in the night and hid
Our heads under the pillow to postpone the worry
In the morning the sea lay sallow and turgid
Sand-sucking, ominous waves carried their cargo of wrecked wrack stems
Oars and petrol, dead bodies.
The human spirit is cowed by the sudden fury,
Dreams lie buried deep within pending insurance claims;
The Buddha counsels non-attachment.
The long steep climb back to normality
Is fraught with memories of these and other disasters
But from what was left us we salvaged hope
And where there's hope there's life:
It was courtesy of the living
That the storm had anything vivid to destroy

                                                                                                              Tommy Beavitt

Love hopes

Love hopes to attain
What cannot be attained
Love gropes in the darkness
For someone to be blamed
Yet no one is to blame,
Only love
It's like a sailor on the sea,
That sailor could be me
Where the waters are uncharted
And the wrecks are broken-hearted
I'm still learning the ropes.
Love Hopes

Love yearns for the lover,
For the comfort of the Other
Love burns as it turns
From one way to another.
But there is no way to turn
In love
Like a mountain in the north
Where Foolhardy ventured forth
Wrote a letter to his wife
'It isn't me who loses life
On these slopes'.
Love Hopes

Love takes us to the region
Of the mournful Roman legion
Who set off in the mist
When the girls had all been kissed
In love.
But the soldiers marched away
In a land of cold and grey
And as the oxen creaked the carts
A hush fell on their hearts
The maiden mopes
But love hopes

Love guides us on the way
Love teaches us to pray
Both caused and eases pain
Both soothed and drives insane;
Crazy love
Yet through darkness there's a light
Through despair, a will to fight
The imperative of known
Caused a lovelorn fool to moan
Somehow he copes
Love hopes

                                                                                            Tommy Beavitt

My wife and I are now in our late seventies and after our Ne'erday morning walk were reminiscing while looking in Google Earth at An Teallach and Dundonnell where we used to hill walk while holidaying in Mrs McKenzies carvan .
 
We then followed the path through Badralloch to Scoraig where we had walked into several times in the early 1970's and were amazed to see both Primary and Secondary schools which were certainly not there to our memory. Both my wife and I  remembered chatting to the few folk we did meet and being told that they were teaching the few kids themselves because the altermative was a boat ride across Little Loch Broom.
 
This in turn led us to Google 'Scoraig' where we discovered your superb Web site along with it's request for any memories and while we can't help you too much with Scoraig we went over again in our minds eye the several walks into the community we did through Badralloch in the early 1970's.
In these days the walk in and out was quite a severe test and honestly each time we went in we wondered if the community would still be there and by the look of the web site you not only survived but bloomed and good luck to you.
 
In these days the locals didn't appear  to be too impressed with your chances however we're glad they have been proved wrong, but this in turn brought back memories of Willie McKenzie who delivered the mail to Badralloch and reputedly never missed a single days delivery.
He was known locally as Willie the Royal Male and had the most massive hands you have ever seen.
 
Another Character was the Head Stalker in the An Teallach Estate who stood well over 6' 4" and had  size 14 boots which had to be specially made in London for him.
He used to play pool in the Inn partnering my wife who stands at 5' 00" and it was a funny sight to see the pair of them at the pool table, he towering over her with his arms or her shoulder advising how to play the next shot.
'Just aim it as though it was a rifle' was his constant advice delivered in a soft Highland brogue to Helen but as she had never fired a gun in her life the result was well seen in the scores they made.
 
The sing songs in the Inn were another grand memory with James McKenzie a fine gaelic singer. J
James the youngest of the McKenzie brothers was at that time a fine tall slim young man with flaming red hair who all the girls in the climbing club were greatly taken with but  whom I suppose has aged as have we all.
 
Congratulations again on your very fine site and the memories it has evoked and all the best to you all in 2011
 
Tom and Helen Donnelly          { 1st January 2011 }