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St. Kilda
The small island archipelago of St Kilda, which rises majestically from the stormy waters of the North Atlantic, has a magic and allure which is both enduring and inexplicable. For centuries, St Kilda's remoteness (it lies sixty miles west of the Scottish Hebrides), together with the way of life of its inhabitants, has attracted huge attention from outsiders, who have been fascinated by this small community literally clinging to the edge of the world. Although St Kildans were always few in number (the population was under 100 when Hirta, the only inhabited island, was evacuated in 1930), their society was extraordinarily well developed - they famously had their own daily 'parliament', at which the men of the island would meet and discuss the tasks of the day. George Seton visited St Kilda in the summer of 1876 and wrote this account immediately afterwards. He brilliantly summarises previous material about the islands, surveys local incidents from the beginning of the seventeenth century, and provides a wealth of information about the daily life and unique customs which were soon to die out under the impact of increasing exposure to the outside world.Aside from being one of the most significant books on this extraordinary place ever written, Seton's book is also a fascinating insight into the mind-set of the Victorian traveller confronted with a place and a society for which nothing could have prepared him.
256 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 2012
About the author
George Seton
57 booksGeorge Seton of Careston FRSE FSA was a Scottish philanthropist and genealogist. He was born in Perth, Scotland and educated at Edinburgh's High School, then studied Law at University of Edinburgh, and Exeter College, and finally Oxford, from which he graduated in 1845.
Although called to the Scottish bar in 1846, Seton never practiced as a lawyer. Instead, he filled various public offices, as secretary to the Registrar-general for Scotland (from 1854) and Superintendent of the civil service examinations in Scotland (from 1862).
Although called to the Scottish bar in 1846, Seton never practiced as a lawyer. Instead, he filled various public offices, as secretary to the Registrar-general for Scotland (from 1854) and Superintendent of the civil service examinations in Scotland (from 1862).
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
January 15, 2022
If it is possible to visit a place without the expense, hassles and danger of travelling, if I can just magically drop gently in the middle of where I want to go, I would choose this seemingly godforsaken island rock, St. Kilda, most likely because this is the second book about this island which I’ve read.
The latter part, of course, was just a joke although factually it is true that I’ve already read a book about this place before which was written much later, as it already had an account of the mass evacuation of the island’s residents sometime in the 1930’s. In this much older work, written after the author’s visit to the island in 1876, only accounts the then ongoing public debate of what to do with the island’s dwindling residents who are often exposed to threats of starvation and diseases, the island being so remotely located in the North Atlantic Ocean, somewhere in the north-west of Scotland’s mainland, surrounded by stormy waters and strong gales almost year-round.
Why do I find this island so intriguing and fascinating. In my country (the Philippines) the staple food is rice. There is a season for planting it (palay) and the tie for its harvest. It is then milled and stored and that’s what Filipinos eat everyday with meat, fish and vegetable dishes. In St. Kilda they don’t have rice. Instead, they have SEA BIRDS (of different kinds) and their eggs. During certain months of the year these birds come to lay their eggs in the island’s steep, rocky cliffs. The hardy men of St. Kilda (and some adventurous women too) would climb these cliffs to catch the birds and gather their eggs. These are what they store for food and other various uses and tide them over until the next harvest of birds and eggs.
I would love to be in that place when the birds are there. An old account by a visitor in such a time reads:
“The air is full of feathered animals, the sea is covered with them, the houses are ornamented by them, the ground is speckled with them like a flowery meadow in May. The town is paved with feathers, the very dunghills are made of feathers, the ploughed land seems as if it had been sown with feathers, and the inhabitants look as if they had been all tarred and feathered, for their hair is full of feathers, and their clothes are covered with feathers. The women look like feathered Mercuries, for their shoes are made of a gannet’s skin; everything smells of feathers, and the smell pursued us all over the islands—for the captain (of a visiting vessel) had concealed a sack-full in the cabin.”
I would not, of course, only want to see the birds and the island’s majestic cliffs, but I also want to hear these marvellous creatures sing:
“in the sea-birds there are few tones and few notes, but they are decided and steady. The body of sound is also far greater; and, however inferior in variety or sweetness the notes of the individuals may be, there is much more variety in the harmonious combinations, and in that which musicians would call the contrivance and design. Very often they remind me of some of the ancient religious compositions, which consist of a perpetual succession of fugue and imitation on a few simple notes; and sometimes it appeared as if different orchestras were taking up the same phrases….I will not say that the gulls, the auks, the gannets and the cormorants will compete for the palm of music with Haydyn’s ‘Chaos,’ or with the solemn and wild strain of extraordinary and superhuman harmonies with which the ghost first addresses Don Giovanni: but the educated musician who shall choose to attend to these marine symphonies will find that modern inventions have unwittingly been only following nature, and may thence borrow valuable hints for his own art.”
Isn't this place, perhaps still completely uninhabited now, truly magical?
The latter part, of course, was just a joke although factually it is true that I’ve already read a book about this place before which was written much later, as it already had an account of the mass evacuation of the island’s residents sometime in the 1930’s. In this much older work, written after the author’s visit to the island in 1876, only accounts the then ongoing public debate of what to do with the island’s dwindling residents who are often exposed to threats of starvation and diseases, the island being so remotely located in the North Atlantic Ocean, somewhere in the north-west of Scotland’s mainland, surrounded by stormy waters and strong gales almost year-round.
Why do I find this island so intriguing and fascinating. In my country (the Philippines) the staple food is rice. There is a season for planting it (palay) and the tie for its harvest. It is then milled and stored and that’s what Filipinos eat everyday with meat, fish and vegetable dishes. In St. Kilda they don’t have rice. Instead, they have SEA BIRDS (of different kinds) and their eggs. During certain months of the year these birds come to lay their eggs in the island’s steep, rocky cliffs. The hardy men of St. Kilda (and some adventurous women too) would climb these cliffs to catch the birds and gather their eggs. These are what they store for food and other various uses and tide them over until the next harvest of birds and eggs.
I would love to be in that place when the birds are there. An old account by a visitor in such a time reads:
“The air is full of feathered animals, the sea is covered with them, the houses are ornamented by them, the ground is speckled with them like a flowery meadow in May. The town is paved with feathers, the very dunghills are made of feathers, the ploughed land seems as if it had been sown with feathers, and the inhabitants look as if they had been all tarred and feathered, for their hair is full of feathers, and their clothes are covered with feathers. The women look like feathered Mercuries, for their shoes are made of a gannet’s skin; everything smells of feathers, and the smell pursued us all over the islands—for the captain (of a visiting vessel) had concealed a sack-full in the cabin.”
I would not, of course, only want to see the birds and the island’s majestic cliffs, but I also want to hear these marvellous creatures sing:
“in the sea-birds there are few tones and few notes, but they are decided and steady. The body of sound is also far greater; and, however inferior in variety or sweetness the notes of the individuals may be, there is much more variety in the harmonious combinations, and in that which musicians would call the contrivance and design. Very often they remind me of some of the ancient religious compositions, which consist of a perpetual succession of fugue and imitation on a few simple notes; and sometimes it appeared as if different orchestras were taking up the same phrases….I will not say that the gulls, the auks, the gannets and the cormorants will compete for the palm of music with Haydyn’s ‘Chaos,’ or with the solemn and wild strain of extraordinary and superhuman harmonies with which the ghost first addresses Don Giovanni: but the educated musician who shall choose to attend to these marine symphonies will find that modern inventions have unwittingly been only following nature, and may thence borrow valuable hints for his own art.”
Isn't this place, perhaps still completely uninhabited now, truly magical?
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