Media transcripts
Ro-ràdh
Air an latha mu dheireadh dhan Dùbhlachd 1918, bha an Iolaire air a slighe a Steòrnabhagh a’ toirt 300 duine dhachaigh bhon a’ Chiad Cogadh.
Aig dà uair sa mhadainn, chaidh i fodha air Biastan Thuilm agus bha barrachd air dà cheud duine air am bàthadh. Seo an tubaist as motha a thachair aig muir ann an àm-sìthe bho chaidh an Titanic fodha.
Tha an làrach-lìn seo air iomadh pìos eachdraidhail a chruinneachadh, le guthan bho iomadh ghinealach, airson nach bi na sgeulachdan aca air an dìochuimhneachadh.
Air ais chun a’ mhullachThe last Iolaire orphan
Tar-sgrìobhadh de dh’agallamh le Iain MacLeòid a sgrìobh ‘When I heard the Bell’Cò an dìlleachdan mu dheireadh bho chall na h-Iolaire?
B’ e sin Mòr NicLeòid, cailleach iongantach a rugadh ann am baile Iarsiadar ann an Ùig ann an Leòdhas ann an 1914. Rinn i seirbheis san Dàrna Cogadh ann am Barbhas is Brù agus chaochail i ann an 2012. Bha i 97 bliadhna a dh'aois nuair a chaochail i agus b’ i an dìlleachdan mu dheireadh bho thubaist na h-Iolaire.
’S e boireannach sònraichte a bh’ innte. Bha i na seanchaidh aig an robh Gàidhlig àlainn agus bha i foghlaimte agus pongail. Nuair a rinn mi agallamhan còmhla rithe sna bliadhnaichean mu dheireadh aice, bha i an sàs ann an iomadh diofar rud, leigheas traidiseanta, òrain thraidiseanta, eachdraidh an àite is mar sin air adhart, ach bhruidhneadh i gu cumhachdach agus gu soilleir mun Iolaire cuideachd. Cha do dhìochuimhnich i riamh an oidhche nuair a chaill i a h-athair ged nach robh i ach ceithir bliadhna a dh’aois aig an àm.
Mar a thachair e, b’ e màthair Mòir a’ bhanntrach mu dheireadh a bha beò aig an robh duine air an Iolaire agus chaochail i ann an 1980 aig aois 92. Thug Mòr cuideachadh mòr dhomh nuair a bha mi a’ sgrìobhadh an leabhair agam agus dh’fhaighnich mi dhith aon fheasgar mu na cuimhneachain a bh’ aig a màthair air an tubaist air an oidhche sin, agus, rud a chuir iongnadh mòr orm, fhreagair Mòr gu ciùin: “Cha do bhruidhinn sinn riamh mu dheidhinn agus cha do dh’fhaighnich mi dhith riamh mu dheidhinn. Cha do bhruidhinn mi fhèin is an duine agam mu dheidhinn nuair a bha i an làthair”.
Agus bha fios aig a cuid chloinne nach bu chòir an cuspair a thogail nuair a bha i san t-seòmar. Abair gur e sgeulachd annasach a tha sin nuair a smaoinicheas tu mu dheidhinn. Boireannach a chaill an duine aice ann an tubaist na h-Iolaire agus nighean a chaill a h-athair ann. Banntrach a bha cho fada beò is gun robh a nighean 66 bliadhna a dh’aois nuair a chaochail i ach cha do bhruidhinn iad air a’ chuspair fiù ’s aon uair.
Tha mi a’ smaoineachadh gu bheil sin, barrachd na rud sam bith eile, a’ sealltainn dìreach cho uabhasach ’s a bha tubaist na h-Iolaire do choimhearsnachd Leòdhais.
Air ais chun a’ mhullachAgallamh le Dòmhnall MacLeòid
Dè a tha a’ seasamh a-mach dhuibhse mu dheidhinn na thachair? An e a’ ghaisgeachd neo an e an tubaist uabhasach i fhèin?
Tha mi creids’ gur e an tubaist fhèin. Nuair a bha sinn ag èirigh suas òg ann an Leòdhas bha tòrr còmhradh mu dheidhinn an Iolaire nar dachaighean ’s ann an taighean-cèilidh. Chluinneadh sinn daoine ag ràdh “a chaidh a chall anns an Iolaire” agus bha e an còmhnaidh ann an cùl inntinn dhaoine. Bha a h-uile teaghlach bho teaghlach air choireigin, ghabh an tubaist buntainn riutha. Bha iad eòlach air teaghlaichean às an robh daoine air an call.
Bha mo sheanair fhìn anns a’ Chaol an latha sin, agus bha iad a’ cuir cuid air a’ Sheila agus cuid air an Iolaire. Chaidh esan a chur air a’ Sheila agus fhuair e dhachaigh, ach an fheadhainn eile, chaidh mòran dhiubh a chall. Agus mar sin, bha e buntainn rinn uile. Bha m’athair an uairsin, bha e ochd bliadhna a dh’aois ann an 1918/9. Bha cuimhn’ aigesan air na seallaidhean a bh’ann an uairsin: cairtean le cistean-laighe a’ dol sìos tron an sgìre, agus ceithir cistean anns a’ chairt, agus thug e buaidh maireannach air balaich òg gu h-àraid, a’ faicinn an seòrsa sealladh a bh’ ann an sin.
Tha mi creids gun robh sòlaimteachd air an sgìre gu lèir mar thoradh air an ni a thachair. Bha iad eòlach air am Patch, dh’aithnicheadh sibh an t-ainm a th’ann an sin agus chuala mi cho tric mu dheidhinn am fear a cheangail e fhèin ris a’ chrann nuair a chaidh an t-soitheach sìos. ’S e a bh’ ann pàirt dha ar dualchas, an còmhnaidh, a’ cluinntinn mu dheidhinn. Bha sinne ann an Lacasdal, ‘s e baile ùr a bh’ ann an sin, agus cha robh tòrr mothachadh air an tubaist anns a’ choimhearsnachd air sgàth sin, ach a’ buntainn ri Nis, bha buntannas mòr aige rinn.
Air ais chun a’ mhullachOverview
Transcript of interview with author John MacleodWhy did you decide to write a book about the Iolaire?
It was something that had tormented me all my life. I learned of it when I was 10 years old when my father first told me of my grandparents who could never talk about it without great distress. My grandfather for instance who was a boy of eight at the time never forgot standing outside his door on the family home on Cross, the village of Cross and seeing the carts coming over the brae with coffins. Carts passing the house. Carts with one coffin, carts with two coffins, carts with four coffins. Coffins after coffins. In fact one detail I learned much later, the disaster was of such a scale the isle of Lewis actually ran out of coffins and a load had to be sent for from Kyle on the island steamer.
It was a colossal event and I found had never been properly written about. There’d been one small pamphlet about it in 1972, which was a re-hash of newspaper material of 1919 and there’s a very worthwhile book by Domhnall MacDonald [written] in 1978 almost entirely in Gaelic. And I felt it was time to have a serious English treatment of the disaster. I felt it was very important to do it then in 2008 while there were still some orphans alive, quite a number of people alive that could remember it. Almost nine years later and the disaster is utterly out of living memory. The last person alive that could remember it died in April 2015.
Out of all the heroism and tragedy of that dark day, what stands out for you the most?
The sheer waste of life. Two hundred and five men drowned, 189 of them natives of the island in an eminently avoidable accident. These men did not die heroically in war. They were killed by colossal carelessness and human error. A ship ran aground in not really bad weather conditions on a notorious reef well off the main shipping line by utterly incompetent officers.
My dominant emotion even today is just anger, anger at how it happened. And anger that it was never properly explained and the authorities never apologised for it. In just one astonishingly crass move they put this wreck up for sale, for salvage, for scrap when dozens of bodies still hadn’t been recovered.
Air ais chun a’ mhullach
