Upon arriving on the Isle of Raasay, we meandered up to the end of a lonely road that took us to the remote northern half of the island.  We got our boots wet at Brochel Castle, and my father-in-law Clarke finally saw Calum’s Road with his own two eyes. With a good sense of the geography of the place, it was time to dig into some family history. This was a job for the Raasay Heritage Trust.

Finding the Raasay Heritage Trust

When I plan a trip, I pore over maps for months on end. When I was scanning the Isle of Raasay, I noticed the Raasay Heritage Trust pinned as a museum. I made a note for us to stop in and see what we could discover there. So, on our second day on Raasay, we set out from the hostel looking for the building.

We trudged through muddy fields and over small creeks, trying to decipher the location of a pixelated building I had seen on Google Maps. Eventually, we encountered an abandoned building surrounded by overgrown grasses. Something wasn’t right. My heart sank as I faced the possibility that Clarke would leave without having a chance to ask any questions about his ancestry.

I doubled back to a small store we had passed earlier, desperate to fix the situation. The shopkeeper yawned as we walked in, holding a newspaper I’m not sure he was actually reading. He definitely looked local enough to help us.

“Hi, do you know anything about the Raasay Heritage Trust?”

“Aye, they’ve got all sorts of old documents an’ photos, but the trust is closed fer the season. Shut down on Saturday.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, trying to hide my disappointment.

“Are yuh lookin’ fer something in particular?”

“Yeah, my father-in-law was hoping to look up some family history.”

“Aye, let me give Margaret a ring, she lives just down the way. She’s part of the Raasay Heritage Trust. Might have some records for yuh to take a look at.”

The shopkeeper took a few languid steps into a back room, presumably where the phone is located. He returned a few minutes later and drew us a rough map, gesturing to the east and emphasizing a door number. “She’s got the kettle on,” he encouraged, and before we knew it we were knocking on the apartment door of a total stranger.

Margaret

The walls and shelves at Margaret’s house are full of knickknacks. Being there felt like being inside the pages of an I Spy book. I smiled at a Big Mouth Billy Bass, mounted behind Margaret as she welcomed us into her home.

She immediately began pulling books, photographs, and old census records off of shelves and drawers around the main floor. As it turns out, the Raasay Heritage Trust lives in the nooks and crannies of Margaret’s home in the off season.

Margaret and Clarke pored over old records, chatting about family names and long trips across the Atlantic. As we finished our tea, Margaret began to hazily recall records of a family that had crossed the Atlantic that she thought might have been Clarke’s ancestors. She couldn’t remember the details, so she gave her friend Rebecca a call to let her know we were coming, and sent us on our way.

Rebecca

The door swung open before we had a chance to knock. A woman stood in the doorway and greeted us with a hearty “ciamar a tha thu?” (the pronunciation will surprise you). I had studied up on Gaelic greetings and phrases before our trip, but still managed to freeze upon finally having the chance to respond to one.

Rebecca ushered us through the house and into her living room. Being there was a whirlwind of ancestry records and stories of old folks on the island who look a lot like Clarke. She had ideas about who his relatives were, and when they had left for Canada.

Rebecca spoke with the passion of someone who could highhandedly keep the heritage of a small island alive, and had the educational chops to back it up. At one point, she nearly shouted, “yer a MacLeod of Raasay, I can tell by lookin’ at yuh.”.

Clarke was definitely blushing as this cute older lady examined his face and made remarks about how handsome he is. All of this was followed by a Gaelic song, and an invitation to miss our ferry and stay the night. She had a full pot of soup on, after all.

Actually, I got the impression that Rebecca had a bit of a crush on Clarke. Months later, when we learned that Clarke has stage four lung cancer, I thought seriously about looking up Rebecca’s phone number to break the news to her.

Despite the feeling that a night at Rebecca’s would deepen our connection to Raasay, we had to catch our ferry to keep our road trip on schedule, and ensure we’d be back in Glasgow in time to fly home. Slowly, reluctantly, we said goodbye and caught the ferry back to Skye with minutes to spare.

That night, at an inn in Inverness, I think we all fell asleep remembering Rebecca’s declaration about Clarke’s ancestry. “Yer a MacLeod of Raasay, I can tell by lookin’ at yuh.” That moment, in a way, was what why we came to Scotland. Whether or not we will ever find a paper record of where Clarke’s family originates, Rebecca’s expertise is somehow enough.

Cover image: Tiffany and Clarke explore what’s left of Brochel Castle, the historical seat of the MacLeod of Raasay clan. Legend says the castle was used to scout incoming vessels for the purpose of pillaging them.