White Settlers
May 8, 2011 § 26 Comments
Ok, I’ll say it, The W Word.
A term now so bigoted, racist and offensive that broaching this touchy topic will likely lead to a mass (I flatter myself) exodus of readers from this blog and the labelling of my normally mild-mannered self as the Robert Mugabe of the Isles.
But here goes..
White-Settlers.
There I’ve said it. Oooooooh!
It’s usually a pair of words whispered in hushed Highland and Island tones, behind closed doors, perhaps after one too many drams. Sometimes it’s substituted by the more acceptable word “incomer” and on rare occasions, perhaps between friends in a local hostelry, the phrase “fu*@ing En@!*sh c@*ts!” might be heard.
It’s hard in this day and age, this era of tolerance and globalisation, to understand why such heinous terms are still spoken. Why, in this world of open borders and freedom of movement does the arrival of “The English” in remote Scottish communities raise such ire? And why in this age of free speech and open political discourse, is discussing the issue so taboo? Does expressing an opinion on the subject instantly render one a bigot on the same level as an Oldham BNP leader? Does it mark you out as the parochial village idiot?
In this hard-hitting investigation The Croft tackles the subject head on, pulling no punches and cutting right to the heart of the issue…
Not really! 
For the sake of ratings, let’s have a ramble. And note, what follows is just a blog post, not an academic journalistic endeavor. If easily offended, perhaps walk away now…
For my own sins, the blame for holding any denizens from south of the border in low regard lies squarely at the door of the S.F.A. and access to bumper piles of comic books as a boy. Unfortunately in pre-PC times us young Scottish lads were brought up believing that the English (See Jimmy Hill) were the enemy, particularly on the football pitch and, thanks to the mass propaganda of D.C. Thomson, all English folk were deemed “toffee-nosed” snobs. One only had to look at Dennis The Menace’s nemesis, Walter the Softy to know he was English (though more than likely he was from Edinburgh) while in The Dandy, it came down to outright warfare between The Jocks and The Geordies. Then there was a mediocre schooling in Scottish history that tended to omit our own nation’s hand in some of the nastier parts of our past. From Culloden to The Clearances it was the evil English that bore the blame. And don’t even mention the Braveheart movie. Or the south of the border skewed media.
But as you get older, you get wiser and realise that Mel Gibson is actually an Aussie anti-semite and that while cross-border rivalry in a sporting setting is quite good fun, hanging onto hatred for past events is a little less so. Despite yesterday’s resounding endorsement of the SNP, I think the vast majority of Scottish folk don’t give two hoots about where you come from. Or indeed where they come from themselves.
I can’t say I particular define myself as Scottish other than geographically. I certainly don’t feel any passion or stirring upon spying a St Andrew’s Saltire flutter or hearing Flower of Scotland ring out. I know a lot of people that do though. Kilts, marching pipe bands, haggis, Burns, North Sea Oil, it all just smacks of Edinburgh politics and tourism and after 15 years as a weegie I am obliged to hate Edinburgh by default. To seal the deal The Croft clan’s thoroughbred DNA has even intermingled with the blood of the Sassenach in recent years, my sister marrying a card-carrying Chelsea fan. How can you hate a nation that is home to my fine wee nephew, not only born south of the border but the proud wearer of three lions on his chest (although every Xmas we try and slip a Scotland strip into the mix).
So I’m not big on nationalism, I struggle to identify with the passion. Self-determination is fair enough and if it’s what the majority wants so be it. But getting all angsty and anglophobic over it all, nah, I’ll pass. I’m a Gael, not a Scot, if push came to shove.
But what about in-migration, in particular with regard to rural communities in the Western Isles? I recently listened to someone bemoaning their kids coming home from an island school with an English twang to their maw accent, so many English classmates had they. Another ranted about planning permission for a barn being scuppered due to an incomer’s complaint it would ruin their view. Another just simply commenting resignedly that there were no locals left in her village. And it’s not just daft maws and barflys who express concerns, the white-settler has been attacked by poets and writers alike from Kevin MacNeil’s R.Stornoway to Derrick Thomson and parodied without mercy by comedians (though some might question the label) like Billy Matheson’s MacAnoonoo. And so it goes on.
Although rarely publicly expressed, there is an obvious feeling among some that they’re witnessing a culture and indigenous community in decline. Witnessing young people leaving as soon as they pass their exams to study. Young people leaving to find work as there is so little on the island. And young people unable or unwilling to return home again, seeking to fulfil their potential elswhere. And in their place, new people with little or no connection to the place. Unfamiliar with customs and culture, language and music, no roots or family or sense of place. Older and often with enough money to pursue creative pursuits rather than work as part of the island society. And with new people comes new points of view and new opinions and an ability to influence the future of the island by simply owning property on it. If these new people are not to blame, the thinking goes, then they’re certainly part of the problem.
But for better or worse, that is the way of things. Much of it is our own fault as much as any incomer.
And for what it’s worth (and that’s not much really) I think it’s a necessary “evil”. Without the White Settler, schools would be emptier than they are, the economy far worse, the population older and smaller by each passing year. The islands are not a museum, they have to live and breathe and move forward. And if the baton cannot be picked up by a new generation of young people then perhaps it is best to have new, if not indigenous, hands to help cling on. I don’t say that lightly, I’m well aware of the related issues surrounding house prices, schooling, an aging population, survival of the gaelic language.
But, against all odds and statistics I believe that it won’t always be this way. A huge part of this blog was finding relevance in the culture of the Isle of Lewis and Harris in the 21st century. And I found it in droves. Music, art, poetry, design, textiles, weaving, food, whisky, nature, architecture, language, tradition. It’s the most vibrant and fascinating place and I believe that as the world shrinks young people will be more disinclined to leave and more inclined to return. There is a wealth of potential and inspiration for our creative souls. A crucial part of this revival will be the provision of broadband and establishing a working economy. Easier said than done however and that’s a whole other blog. And should a green economy take hold (despite designation difficulties and objection obstacles) the more technically minded of school-leavers can start getting the hands dirty with clean energy right here. I have great faith and belief in the place and people to reverse the decline in the coming decade. Naive? Possibly.
So why do I get a kick out of winding up English folk when they stray north and set up camp in the Outer Hebrides? And it’s just English folk. My friend over on Earshader Croft will confirm I’ve never exhibited any anti-American bias in my dealings with him. Nope, it’s just the English.
And I do enjoy it. I admit it. I used to while away many an enjoyable hour on any fresh-off-the-ferry new arrival’s blog puncturing their island idyll with tongue-in-cheek jibes, the odd very pointed question, correcting some misapprehension or just poking fun at their inability to raise ducks. Whatever, I did it again tonight with a lovely Christian couple planning to move to Lewis this year. Their blog had highlighted their chosen design of huge kit-home with additional multiple extensions, gables and windows. Now all they had to do was pick a site for their monstrosity. So I humbly suggested, with impeccable good manners obviously, *ahem*, doing it the other way around, find their site and build to compliment the locale. Orientation, size, materials, relationship to the land, wind and other neighbours. Architecture 101 basically. And if this means perhaps looking at a less ostentatious build so be it. Oh, and I may also have inferred that it was more suitable for an Essex WAG. And that perhaps a fountain would be a suitable addition. I actually pointed out to the aforementioned blogger that some of the worst culprits for real fugly builds on the island were the locals themselves and not to worry. But the damage was done. The poor lass, she hadn’t even set foot on God’s own island (like ever!) or met a Leodhasach and already her dreams had been dashed. I was branded a cad and their blog went private. So I retreated to the naughty step with my laptop to consider what I had done. And then blog about it!
My bad.
I think the fun is found in the fact that the best of them are so dashed deferential and defensive. So fleeking earnest in their intentions, so keen to fit in, living in perpetual fear of a faux pas at the fank. Fact is though it’s impossible to expect someone who has lived in a leafy Surrey suburb to fully align themselves with those shaped by decades of life on a small island and the shared knowledge that everyone knows you, the skeletons in your closet and the guilty secrets of generations of your family since time immemorial. Life on Lewis was lived under a religious microscope, where who you are related to often defines who you are. Upbringings under long dark winters and horizontal rain create a sense of fatalism and humour that is the antithesis to any overtly chippy, can-do, seize the day attitudes formed in more southerly, mainland petri dishes. Not here are the travel guide, smiling, ruddy cheeked natives. It’s a far more complicated psyche that lurks. It’s a psyche that, despite generations of their own emigration, struggles to understand why anyone would leave their home and strike out to start a new life in amongst their alien culture and community. And moreso, often seek to change it fundamentally when they do.
I find the relentless experience of reading new blogs about new people starting new lives on the island very bemusing. It’s as cliched as watching Monty Hall’s Hebridean Escape and hearing no local accents for the duration. Personally I blame Bob Larbey and John Esmonde for bringing The Good Life to the TV. And then Monty Don, Hugh Fearnley, River Cottage, Jamie At Home, Escape To The Country and all those other TV shows selling the rural idyll and a retreat from the rat-race. It blew my mind that the aforementioned English Incomers had picked out Lewis despite having never visited the place, not even for a holiday. It just simply looked good. And they’re not alone. There are ducks to keep, tweed knick-knacks to craft, communities to join, Gaelic to learn, windfarms to campaign against…who can blame anyone from England wanting to escape their smelly traffic fumes, lah-de-dah snobbish lifestyles and fellow countrymen (KIDDING!) to grab themselves a piece of the action. Or at least grab a massive house on a cheaply decrofted house site with incredible views.
Begrudgingly, I certainly don’t.
Hell, I want to do it myself.
Perhaps that’s where my online badness comes from. I can’t get there, despite being from there. It’s not enough to retire there at 65, I want to be there now, playing some small part in keeping the things that matter to me and my heritage alive. Jealousy, bitterness, envy, lust…the deadly sins of a Stornoway cove stuck in a city far from home.
To sign off on this rather long missive I’d like to remind my southern readers that this is a blog written in Glasgow by a Leodhasach who was born but not living there. Don’t take it too seriously and don’t mistake my opinions for those of the locals. They’re not representative in any way. I promise *cough*. A community rises and falls on it’s ability to work together and in recent issues such as Sunday Sailing and windfarms the divide did not fall along local / incomer lines. Both groups fell into both camps. So like much of the world’s bigger divisive issues, life isn’t black and white, them and us. It’s better to get along to get on and up there they do just that. But on here I reserve the right wholeheartedly to take the mickey and poke fun at any opportunity. If you really want to blend in, be a part of the community and integrate with the natives then you’d better grow a thick skin. Consider it a right of passage, once you take a slagging and can give back as good as you get then you might be a little closer to fitting in.
” God, in whom this island’s population largely trust and some devoutly so, may have sent us incomers purely to amuse the native Gaels “
- Professor Feb. S. Burns
P.S. Not the most academic of analysis or blogs on the subject I know, but fleek the damn thing is free, just like my opinions and yours. Hey you get what you pay for!
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Just for kicks.
It’s important to know your White Settler!
Type I: The Common Or Garden Settler: The classic. English, usually from Home Counties or Yorkshire. Saw Monty Hall on the telly and decided to upsticks in search of the idyllic island life. Has never visited island previously. At least not in Winter. Fascinated by idea of Community and Contributing / Playing Their Part in It. Fails to realise community simply means knowing everyone’s bloodlines and closet skeletons and raising these at every opportunity ideally through the medium of gossip and nicknames. Likely to spend time on commitees fighting windfarms, supporting sunday sailing, working for historical societies, complaining about village streetlamps being on at night and so on. Apparently knows what’s best, in all situations. Frequently writes to local press expressing opinions. Has own blog analysing peccadilloes of island life.
Type IB: The Silver Settler: A sub-division of Type I. Post-retirement age, Gore-tex wearing, sensible shoes, likes walking and birdwatching. Usually found having coffee at An Lanntair or talking loudly in the Co-Op.
Type II: The Exotic Settler: Once upon a time it was the Italians and the Pakistanis, more recently it was the Eastern Europeans. Now it’s Americans, Candians and Australians. Reverse emigration!
Type IIIA: The Good Life Settler: A down sizer who has escaped the rat-race but only after making a killing on the property market on the mainland. Enough money to buy or build a house, keep ducks and goats, hens, anything but sheep (unless it’s a cute, endangered rare-breed) Likely to self support via a creative career (photographer, designer, artist, writer). Learns gaelic at the college, drives a 4×4, appears on TV and radio anytime a genuine local crofter is required.
Type IIIB: The Crafty Settler: A sub divisionof the good life settler. Usually his wife. Or an overweight spinster. With dreadlocks. Paints badly, makes things out of Harris Tweed scraps, sets up a business using name Hebridean. Likes reiki, buddhism, homeopathy. Hangs around craft fairs & Callanish. Hangs washing out on a Sunday just out of principle or deference to Wicca Moon God. Starts llama trekking or other irrelevant business.
Type IV: The Part-time settler: Visited the island on holiday, loved it so much they bought a croft to renovate and spend two weeks in the summer. Rents it out 50 weeks of the year for £1000 per week.
Type V: The Ned Settler: Relocated via social housing scheme from various industrial cities of the north. Usually with a dozen kids in tow. Usually found in the Cearns or fighting on South beach street at weekends.
Type VIA: The Outcast Settler. Misguidedly running away from something in their past. BNP members, child molesters, manic depressives, alcoholic transgendered cult leaders. Usually found suing local council for breach of Human Rights and bemoaning lack of open-mindedness and social acceptance shown by confused old boadachs in their village or local schoolkids on the bus compared to their previous home in large, anonymous, multicultural, metropolitan city,
Type VIB: The Temporary Outcast Settler. Tory party candidate. Similar to type A but only around for duration of campaign before leaving again. Recognisable by look of confusion and lack of geographical awareness.
Type VII: The Essential Settler: A professional who brings something to the community. Doctors, nurses, dentists, accountants. Has kids, spends money. Traditionally exempt from White Settler moniker due to general awesomeness and contribution to living standards.
Type VIII: The Prodigal Settler: A local who has lived away from home so long when they return they have no island accent, have adopted strange customs and beliefs. Spends most of time with locals only, dropping pidgin Gaelic in to conversation, wearing blue boiler suits and arnish boots and railing against settlers type I-VII.
Which one are you? I know which one I’ll be.
I prefer the term bast*rd sheep shagging f*cking English c*nt thank you very much.
I hate these namby-pamby “PC” terms in use today.
Type IIIA / VII mongrel.
It’s actually something I find really interesting how the Scots have such a deep ‘hatred’ of the English. Even if now it’s usually mostly done in jest, it still comes from a very vehement history of genuine distain for the southerners. When I was younger I remember being given the impression the Scots were an angry breed and that places like Glasgow were never to be stepped in unless I wanted to be glassed by some Begbie nutter the moment they heard my English accent. But after spending a lot of time in Scotland, especially in Glasgow I now know that not to be entirely true. I’ve only had a few anti-English comments thrown my way (both of which in Edinburgh…funnily enough) and only one of those was said with sincerity. I find it hard to really care about being English or being tarnished solely because of where I was born. It doesn’t really mean anything and so any negative or slanderous comment about it, be it genuine or jovial, I don’t think should ever be taken too seriously. Personally I think a bit of banter and poking fun is good for the soul, the trick is to give as good as you get!
As for the ‘white settlers’; I get equally as irritated by all the Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall followers who decide to get away from the rat-race and start again with the good life. I think there can often be something quite smug and middle-class about it – i.e. if you’re poor you can’t just up-sticks and live off a nice pool of money you’ve saved and build a Grand Designs house made of timber you’ve imported all the way from Norway. But I do think there are also a lot of good honest and genuine people doing it too – like Tony Giles of Closed on Sundays – it’s the only blog I’ve read that hasn’t put me off ever following in their footsteps and questioned their decision or moaned about their neighbours or realised that maybe they should have thought and planned it all a bit better than running off with a dream.
I’m in the same stable as Tony if us “White Settlers” are to be put into a category (well, I think we can be permitted into the Type VII slot on account of my partner’s 30+years IT specialism); and for what its worth, whether we live in a generously proportioned family home or a bath of pigswill at the end of the machair, we’ll be there. Oh, and we don’t live in Surrey – its Berks. Finally, I come from very lower working class roots in Yorkshire as a coal miner’s daughter (youngest of four), brought up in a run-down two-up, two-down terrace owned by the Colliery so please don’t tell me I know nothing of humble origins.
So, here’s to us making a contribution to Lewis, both in terms of running a business there and also living ina christian-minded region. If the islanders are not going to remain on the isle and have a go at living and working there, then let us, the incoming white filth, have a go. Is not a bit of evolution on the isle better than depopulation?
Just sayin’…
Natalie: I think Groundskeeper Willie said it best…
Thankfully few islanders refer to themselves as Scots. Gaels yes, which is something entirely different.
Ooh, hark at thee Lynda lass…
“If the islanders are not going to remain on the isle and have a go at living and working there, then let us, the incoming white filth, have a go.”
It’s not quite a matter of “having a go”…
haha, “like Scots and Scots.” basically just hate everyone that’s not you…
Nat, ye’ve just made yersel’ an enemy fur life!!
Lynda, with all due respect, have you been on the Island for any extended period of time? I can understand why you’d want to move away from deepest darkest Berkshire with all the associated noise of living in a heavily populated area. But the impression I got from your blog before you locked it down was that you’d never spent any time on the Island. This, in my opinion, is sheer folly. It’s not something you can ‘have a go at’, you have to work really very bloody hard at making things work. Cost of living is higher, cost of fuel is substantially higher than the mainland, broadband speeds are lagging (ha!) behind those on the mainland, employment can be hard to come by and then there’s the weather…!
If you have the means and the ability to make a good contribution to the Island then fair play to you. But you need to be realistic, it’s remote and it can be a lonely place to live if you come in all guns a blazin’.
Another note, you claim you ‘chose’ Lewis even though Orkney had better transport links. Orkney really isn’t any better, in fact I’d argue it’s worse. Calmac have RET, Northlink don’t. Flights from Stornoway go to the same places (and more) than Kirkwall. If you’re driving then it’s a hell of a lot longer a drive from Scrabster to Inverness and on to the Central belt than it is from Ullapool.
Thanks a bunch Mr Croft! I only discovered the T&T blog a few days ago and bookmarked it for reading later, now it’s all password protected and ‘marked as private’ with access by invitation only! Might have known you had something to do with it! I guess there are a couple of Southerners who hadn’t previously come across The Croft’s acerbic wit and didn’t know that far from being a Rottweiller he is nothing more that a homesick Scots Terrier who gets a little over exuberant sometimes when he’s playing! (Postscript: I see you have now updated your post since I first read it, to recognise the grief you have caused, have you no shame?)
Anyway, on to the subject at hand. But first a little history. I grew up on a BBC diet of Andy Stewart, Kenneth McKellar and The White Heather Club so I knew that all Scots were twee, be-kilted yokels who greeted each other with ‘Och the noo’ and came together in well-dressed groups to sing in an odd sort of Scottish upper class accent. If only I had had access to a Scottish Highland comic at the time to reinforce the stereotype. Of course there were none because it was well known that folk in the Highlands and Islands – perhaps even beyond the Borders – could neither read nor write let alone produce comics. Even those intellectuals who lived closer to England and got on the tele had little social awareness beyond worrying about where they had put their troosers. Did they never think to look by yon bonnie banks? Anyway.
Back to Lewis. You’ll have to help me here and point me in the direction of all these native islanders who are anti-English. Or do they all live in Glasgow? Since coming here nine months ago we have not come across one anti-English sentiment, in fact quite the opposite. All of our neighbours here are locally born and bred (well one comes from as far away as Tong) and have gaelic as their first language and they have welcomed us to a man, and woman, with open hearts. We have been told how to get freebies from the local quarry ‘after all you are now part of the village’ and have been offered a peat bank even though we don’t have a croft. We were even offered a nicely butchered lamb in return for helping out with lambing. Alas the latter never came about as the ewes just got on with it on their own and didn’t require any help.
Not one of these neighbours is concerned in the slightest that we are English, they are just pleased that another empty house in the village is once again occupied. More than once we have heard ‘It will be good to see a light in the windows again’ and no one has added ‘Shame it’s a f*cking English light bulb!
I’ll grant you that there are some obnoxious English folk here, just as there are one or two obnoxious natives. When you hear from Uig way of five English ‘crofters’ who call in The Crofter’s Commission to try and forcibly buy out the one remaining croft on their patch then I’ll join you in saying ‘F*cking English’! If you want to set up some sort of Al Quaeda link with the Welsh Nationalists and burn down a few kit homes then you won’t go on my most wanted list. But, generally, it’s nothing like that, generally the natives welcome us English with the same warm hearts, kindness and humour that they would extend to anybody. It seems to be the nature of the Leodhasach. Besides when you live here there doesn’t seem to be the need to be anti anything. When you can look aout of the window and watch the Isle of Lewis chugging in and out of the harbour accompanied by the sound of birdsong and the bleating of lambs why would you want to moan about your neighbours – or write a blog? Maybe it’s different when you look out from the balcony at the traffic trogging down Sauchiehall Street accompanied by the sound of people fighting as the pubs empty?
The truth is that far from hating the English every islander actually wants to be English
Why else would our neighbour Seonag insist of being called Joan? Why would our other neighbour, Katag, ask to be called Kath? And why does Murdo, who built our house, call himself Fred? I’ll bet there are even islanders who call themselves Mike! What’s all that about then? Me? I’d be proud of my gaelic name and heritage, not want to call myself some f*cking English name 
So what type of incomer? Has to be number IX – Ordinary folk who discovered that Lewis is a beautiful place with warm-hearted, welcoming inhabitants, folk who just want to get on with their lives without fuss and aggro and have found that Lewis is the place to do just that.
So what’s it going to be when you bite back Mr Croft? The Rottweiler or the harmless little puppy who is just pining for his home?
With love (although we have never really been adversaries). Oh god, I’m sounding like a Leodhasach!
Hi Les,
Err, am neither a rottweiler, terrier or harmless pup. If you want to play dog analogies I’m a hard-working border collie just getting my kicks chasing stupid sheep.
The point of this blog was to broach a topic that, after 5 years of this blog, had never been tackled on here. The ridiculously over the top reaction of the TeaAndTartan lady proved a good opportunity to look at my own thoughts on the matter. And so a rather long and rambling post resulted. It’s not supposed to be an intellectual discourse on the topic, just an incoherent personal musing.
You’ll notice also I don’t express any antipathy to incomers or assert that the island is full of folk who feel that way either. Rather, as you said yourself, everyone works on getting along and getting on. A nicer, more open-minded bunch of natives you won’t find anywhere, I guarantee.
Muchof the post is just a riff on stereotyping with a pinch of the underlying issue with in-migration thrown in. It’s not Mein Kampf Ma Tha or some bizarre call to arms. It’s certainly not a a slight on Lewis folk or English folk. Or folk from San Francisco or New Dheli. It’s just a blog I’d been meaning to do for a while and the time seemed right.
A cursory read of The Croft blog tells you I’m passionate about the island and it’s culture. I don’t look at it through rose-tinted specs and am very clear on its positives as well as its shortcomings. This passion manifests itself in the work I do everyday here in Glasgow, constantly working to make links between Lewis and Glasgow in the world of food, drink, music, art, fashion etc. It’s ridiculous how much is done really and it’s not driven by money (ha! I wish). Rather it’s a drive to champion what I know to be great with people I know will appreciate it. And there are serious plans to do more.
So if I read a shiny new blog where someone is announcing plans to upsticks from Berks to build a huge, fugly house on the island without ever having been to the place then I can’t help but pass comment. Call it weakness of character if you must. And anyone who read what I wrote will see it was actually very reasonable advice, albeit with a few daft cracks along the way. Her reaction was unbelievably unwarranted. Toys out of the proverbial pram springs to mind. So be it, seems a reality check was needed anyway. But you’d be used to that Les! I recall a similar situation on Island Blogging, tantrums and tears when you tried and make a reasonable point. That’s life. Seems it’s all to easy to touch a nerve and perhaps the reasons for that should be looked at a little harder than my point of view.
Anyway, anyone who knows me or knows the blog knows that there are two characters at work and it’s best to take neither seriously. I’m more than happy to help folk planning to move to the islands out. I answer dozens of emails a week answering questions and looking for advice. I’ve physically met some of them to do likewise. Hell, I even sent you, an English retiree – the worst type – a book on St Kilda if I remember rightly!
But online, if I see anyone acting like a Monty Hall wannabe and slipping into cliche-dom the temptation to snap at their heels is too much. It’s hardly an ego trip, more of a hobby but keep the head and have the courage of your convictions and you’ll soon find the bark is worse than the bite…
So there ya go (ya old English c*&t)
Well said Les.
I’m going to be interested in how many down votes you get for this.
Does it matter why someone wants to come and live in the island? All should be made to feel welcome, and not be judged on whether they’ve ever been there before. I’ve seen far iffier characters coming off the MV Isle of Lewis. The treatment meeted out to the T&T lady has been nothing short of disgraceful, and those involved have let their ancestral island down with a bump. IMHO.
You could say that again
I’ll tell you what Mr Croft, you are one of the few that can call me a c*&t and still make me smile
. If you ever get back to these shores again I’ll let you buy me a drink in that hostelry where they hate the English. That’s of course if you have got the balls to go in there with an old English retiree incomer 
If I may have a word on this matter, since the debate does concern me to some extent…
For your information, Mr Croft [Edited - real name used], and courtesy of you fanning the flames via Twitter, my Inbox this morning consisted of no less than 84 messages of insults and, more worryingly, personal threats against me, my partner, my family and our businesses. Yet more (some 30+ messages) came the way via my professional profile on LinkedIn such is the fervour of the witch-hunt of those you choose to fraternise with who had hunted me down on that medium too. Such threats were vile and criminally-culpable and, were I not too long in the tooth to do more about this matter and waste yet more time on it, I would have had no hesitation in contacting the Police on such matters.
Further, and yet again barely an hour or so ago, you once more “rally the troops” on Twitter with your “feel free to contribute..” phrase and a bit.ly link. It really is infantile, in my opinion. Are you really so cerebrally challenged that you know not of the ramifications of your “online bullying”?
Had you actually taken the time to get to know me, my partner and my family, you would have come to know that we have already done a substantial benefits analysis of our relocation – being the sad folk that we are with backgrounds in project management – but yet should not have to justify why or how we intended to relocate. Internet and/or other infrastructure had no bearing on our decision since my partner’s client base is on the mainland – and had you taken the time to read “About Us”, you’d have seen that we had done our homework and not just stuck a pin in a map. The vegging out on the sofa to watch documentaries (a-la Monty Hall, Ferry Tales, Island Parish etc etc) and other nuggets of telovisual wisdom courtesy of internet downloads was purely borne out of our genuine affinity with the isle and its beauty and to want to find out more ahead of our visit.
I had previously discussed my professional motives and other related family ramifications as to my chosen relocation on the Fusion forum discussions on LinkedIn (and I know of a few bloggers who can vouch for this). The blog was merely the next step in my documenting/journalling my thoughts and opinions about the intended relocation of our family and businesses and the journey of discovery therein.
So, Mr Croft, you may now change and edit your postings on your blog to attempt to mitigate what you have done but it was YOU who commenced with your rantings and insults at me purely because I shared on my blog about what size of house we would need to combine businesses and family life. I had done nothing to warrant such rude behaviour from you. It was YOU who took to Twitter to post to all and sundry, upon which those who read and take joy from your bilious rantings joined forces with you and decided I should be “taken down a peg or two”. The rule of thumb for internet discussion is this: you would not use the same vernacular to me in the street, so why choose to hide behind a keyboard with your verbal bows and arrows? Are you not aware that some of your cohorts have chosen words which would have landed them in Court?
Anyway, in order for me to draw a line under this debacle and move on, I’ve taken the steps of deleting my blog and, save for the reccy trip that would have been to explore further where to settle on the isle, am blotting this incident from my copybook and have gone back to the drawing board insofar as relocating – which most certainly will not be to Lewis.
The email account associated with my blog is also deleted and so, if I may retract from this rather unsavoury episode, I’d like to extend my thanks to you for your upsetting behaviour and the provocation of inflammatory remarks, personal threats and insults which I have received from across the internet because of you. As I have deleted such blog and email, I can now thankfully disappear into the ether and get on with my life unless, of course, the most serious threat from one of your cohorts is carried out in which case I do have your contact details and will be sending someone from the Strathclyde Plod around to yours for tea and scones to bring your mea culpa home to roost.
I trust I shall be now left alone.
Thankyou and goodbye.
Ha Ha, thoroughly enjoyed this ! I didn’t see the blog about the house, but I’m a little puzzled, as I thought there were quite strict guidelines about designing your dwelling place to fit in with the surrounding area? Or is that just in England?
There are strict guidelines here – probably that you must be related to someone in the Planning Department in some way! Sadly I didn’t get to read The Croft’s comments that sparked off the train of thought that sparked of the reaction but I’m sure he must have had in mind one particular ‘villa’ at Oliver’s Brae that stands as a testament to a complete lack of understanding of how to build within the local environment. Built by a local and apparently styled on a villa he has in Florida it typifies all that Lewis is not. We still shake our heads as we drive to town, particularly as he’s now having extensions built on it!
So the locals are just as bad. There are at least three or four other places I can think of and, as an incomer, you do wonder how planning permission was obtained but island politics and the Comhairle work in mysterious ways as it doesn’t take long to discover!
btw I got a message last night alleging I (and my friends?!) were bullies and that I’d sent them nasty emails. I didn’t for the record, not my style.
Anyway, moving on…
I could probably be regarded as a cyber friend of The Croft and I didn’t send any emails either
For the record I reckon The Croft is one of the nicest men I’ve never met …
Well done Mr Croft for having the balls to put the thoughts of many of us into print. “Hea Hea”
But many of us Islanders have difficulty with any incomers. Hearachs and Uigeachs moving to SY have diluted the Townie genes. I got into awful trouble for encouraging a Glasgae Keely to feck off back to Glasgow. But it pisses me off listening to ISLES FM where most of the announcers pronounce “Comhairle” as “Kola” I sail the west coast of Scotland and the English have taken over. You hardly hear a west coast accent anywhere nowadays. My grandfather moved to Lewis circa 1906 and may well have been the original “WhiteSettler” and yes he was English. He lived on Ceann a Bhaigh for 60 years and no one ever called him an English anything. He spent60years in SY and when he died “they” said”He wasn’t bad for a Stranger” The old Arnish Lighthouse Visitors Book had itright – it was printed and called “STRANGERS Visiting Arnish Lighthouse” It is the “better than thou”attitude of many, not all, English Incomers that generates much of the antiEnglish feeling prevelant and frequently justified IN the Island (NOTE NOT ON the Island- would you say you were ON Australia or In AUstralia holidaying?) Lastly the English suffer from overdoses of terretorialism “Keep Out/ Private Road” etc and proprietorialism – “This is MY Land – Keep Out etc” Cresswell (an English circuit Judge) even tried to keep the nabbies off Mangerstadh Beach – not to mention the numerous locks and gates on the Hamnaway Road……….
Woops, sorry Lynda your comment was lurking in my Spam folder so just got published today. Genuinely sorry to hear you had so many rude emails but I guarantee none of them were from me (or anyone I know). My blogpost and Twitter feed is wide open for all to see and I stand by my fair and fairly balanced comments. If your blog was still live I’d happily stand by my 2 harmless comments over there too. You might not have liked the points I made about your planned housing design but i was not insulting, biliously ranting, bullying etc. I actually just wisecracked about ugly builds by locals and gave you some links so you don’t make the same mistake. If anything fanned the flames I suspect it was your hilarious overreaction, it was highly entertaining and am pretty sure that’s what drew an audience. You should have had the courage of your convictions to defend or debate your plans instead of spitting the dummy and throwing insults at me (and you accuse me of being the insulter!) BTW I ain’t go no “cohorts”
and if you’d like to involve Strathclyde police here I’d be happy to speak to them, am sure this storm in a teacup is right up their street. Actually, maybe you should speak to Neil Lennon too, he’s having a similar bit of bother right now…
Durachdan
TC
Obviously not guilty Mr Croft you surely can’t have 84 people reading your blog
Pfft. Since this little atom bomb went off the readership has gone through the roof. Quadrupled in fact. People love a bit of gossip n drama. Need to come up with some other scandal soon. Out a Free Church elder? Release my pics of Iain X in flagrente with a female of the ovine persuasion? Reveal myself to be Alastair Allan? Watch this space…
Category IXa. Ordinary folk etc. undergoing identity crisis/denial: I hate those English c@nts as much as youz, them and their bloody signs, fleeks sake, I moved 746miles to get away from them and they’re everywhere.
But really, I understand that I’m part of the problem and I have moments of terrible white settler guilt over it – I mean, I get it. I’m from rural Devon, a small coastal ex-fishing village where 90% of the houses are dark come winter and local youngsters are forced out by impenetrable house prices and lack of local jobs. Grockles with deep pockets fall in love with the seaside idyll in summer and buy themselves holiday homes with little or no understanding of local customs or nuances. But then my family’s not from there either, so WTF would I know (“Ahhhh a tinker, a gypsy” as a bodaich exclaimed upon my telling him of my ancestral routes in the fish shop last week). However, besides the occasional flash of guilt and more-than occasional flashes of shame via association with some of my English neighbours, I feel at home in the Isles. I’m renting an otherwise empty house, shopping in the town, working and of-course, harbouring plans for Uig-wide English domination Mwah hahahahahaaa… or maybe just for renting a croft and putting some sheep on it, we’ll see.
It’s a tough one alright, if I were a Gael I’d be fecked off, but hell, I don’t wanna leave.
To all white settlers – Even if they’re not slagging you off to your face, I would put my mortgage on the fact they’re doing it when you’re not there.
To The Croft – great post…very very accurate!!!