PEACE OF IONA
The summer of 2016 brought with it a journey back to Scotland, a trip that, for various reasons, will likely be my last for quite some time. The notion of home is complex, especially when it comes to Scotland — a land that has the peculiar ability to make its own children feel like strangers. This sentiment is beautifully encapsulated in a song by a good friend of mine, James Clark Jones, aptly titled "Stranger In The Homeland." Scotland, you are a strange place that can make even your own kith and kin feel distant.
My destination was Iona, known in Scottish Gaelic as Chaluim Chille. This small island in the Inner Hebrides, off the Ross of Mull, is steeped in history, tranquility, and natural beauty. Iona's significance stretches back to its days as a centre of Gaelic monasticism for four centuries. Today, it retains its mystical charm, renowned for its serene landscapes and spiritual heritage. Legends claim its ancient Gaelic name was Innis nan Druinich, or 'the isle of Druidic hermits,' hinting at a time long before St. Columba made it the hub of early Christian activity in Scotland.
Around 2005, I was introduced to a local West Linton family whose son showed great promise as a piper. My father and I tutored him, and he absorbed everything we taught with enthusiasm. One day, while visiting their home, I was offered the use of their family holiday cottage on Iona. This cottage, called Culdamh (Pronounced Cul Dav) nestled on the machair at The Bay At The Back Of The Ocean, and had belonged to the grandmother who had been born there. It sat beneath The Hill Of The Faeries—now anglicized to The Hill Of The Angels—and remained in the family's possession. Feeling honoured, I accepted the invitation and planned a summer retreat.
The journey to Iona was an adventure in itself: travelling to Oban, taking the ferry to Mull, a short drive across the island, and then another ferry ride to Iona. There, with no cars allowed, I relied on a bicycle. Armed with my pipes, whistles, guitar, a few bottles of wine, and some manuscript paper, I settled into the cottage, ready to embrace the island's unique ambiance.
Iona's light, folklore, spirituality, and tranquility were the perfect muse for my creative endeavours. I immersed myself in this inspiring environment, playing my instruments outdoors and absorbing the island's essence. Little did I know, this retreat would lay the groundwork for my first solo album, "Footprints." A year or so later, the talented producer Dave Gray at The Sound Cafe Recording Studio helped me capture these experiences, transforming them into a musical journey across ten tracks.
Iona is indeed a magical place, offering a unique experience even if just for a day. Its peace and beauty are difficult to convey through words alone — they must be experienced. Mike Scott's song "Peace of Iona," featured on The Waterboys' albums "Universal Hall" and "Karma to Burn," captures some of this magic and remains one of my favourite tracks by him.
Also upon reflecting on my last trip to Scotland, I recall fond memories from my childhood. We often spent summer holidays in a fishing village near Buckie on the north east coast, where the locals spoke a dialect known as 'The Doric.' Our family roots traced back to fisherfolk from Fraserburgh, on that north east coastline, including a great-grandmother named Whyte who followed the herring trade and ended up in the fishing town of Eyemouth in the Scottish Borders.
One particular memory stands out: we were searching for the village of Findochty, known locally as Finechty. Lost and confused, my father rolled down the car window to ask a local for directions. "Excuse me, we are looking for Findochty," he said. The local replied, "Never heard of it." But then, he moved slightly to reveal a road sign that read "Findochty." With a chuckle, the local admitted, "Ah, you mean Finechty, sir. It's doon the hill." This encounter highlighted the unique and sometimes perplexing charm of the Scottish north east.
Another vivid memory is of a fishing trip with my father and his friend. We went out mackerel fishing on a 17-foot boat. The lines, each with twelve silver hooks, were cast into the North Sea. As the boat swayed with the swell—apparently on a calm day, though my stomach disagreed—we soon found ourselves reeling in mackerel from all sides, having hit a shoal. Despite feeling seasick throughout the trip, we returned with a boatload of fish. My mother greeted us at the harbor, ready to prepare dinner, though I had little appetite after the day at sea.
These recollections of 'home' are bittersweet, filled with a sense of belonging and nostalgia but also a recognition of change and the passage of time. My trip back to Scotland, and particularly to Iona, reinforced the deep connection I have with this land. It is a place that continues to inspire and shape my creative journey, even as I navigate the complexities of feeling like a stranger in my own homeland.
Writing for this book, the memories and reflections of 'home' have come rushing back. Each story is a piece of the tapestry that makes up my identity, a blend of personal history, cultural heritage, and the enduring influence of Scotland's landscapes and people. The journey to Iona, in particular, stands out as a pivotal moment — a time when the island's tranquility and spirit offered me both solace and inspiration, leaving an indelible mark on my heart and soul.
Listen to James Clark Jones singing his original song 'Stranger In The Homeland'
