Iain Fiosaich's House.
On the moor in Ness, Lewis, a house on the cliff edge with a fascinating history.
John Nicolson ('An Fiosaich) was a Minister. He built this house (his second), close to the shielings where people would spend the Summer. If you sat inside and tossed an orange out the window, it would take a few seconds before it hit the sea. Splash.
He was a Minister. This was the second house he built. There was also a small chapel—Filiscleitir Chapel. We went there every year for walks when I was young. A small oil lamp (a crùisgean) sat in the window, and I liked finding it exactly where I had left it, even though there was no window anymore.
My grandmother spent her summers there when she was young, looking after cattle. She only got an orange once a year. It came from Iain Fiosaich and his wife at the Christmas party they held for the village children.
The house stood near the Filiscleitir shielings, on the moor between Ness and Tolsta. Closer to Ness, and it’s from the villages in Ness that the people came from. My grandmother would spend about three months there, watching over the cattle, making cheese, doing what had to be done. They had to grow crops on the crofts to keep them going through the winter.
At one time, people moved to Cuisiadar and Airigh a’ Bhealaich. In the 1950s, they stopped going to the shielings for the summer. But even now, plenty of people have huts and little bothies there. Some have neat little lawns.
The people of Ness love the shielings. And why wouldn’t they? We had a caravan there when I was young. I’ve traveled a lot, but is there anywhere like being out on the moor at the shieling in Ness? No. Maybe it’s just that I was young. In my memory, the light was golden. The birds sang, full of joy. The river made a soft, gentle sound. There’s a well in Cuisiadar, and the water there is sweet.
Iain Fiosaich married a rich woman from America—Norah Barney Cushing. They had one son, Percy. Every day, Percy took a bun with icing to school. The other children watched him, longing for that bun, the icing as white as Antarctica, while they had only a small piece of bread. We once had a dog named Percy, because of his love for sweet things.
Iain Fiosaich and his wife spent time in London, sometimes gathering charitable donations of clothes to bring back to Ness.
They had servants in that house on the cliff. My mother’s aunt, Ceiteag, worked there. Tàbaidh, a man from the village, brought the mail to them every day. The servants were paid six shillings a week.
Iain Fiosaich loved to climb. There were plenty of places for that. In front of the house, there is a grave. A sailor is buried there—a man Iain Fiosaich found at the foot of the cliff. I always wondered how he got down there, with the cliffs so steep. But if you go through the house and down the little path behind it, there is a way. It’s steep, but it takes you to the sea.
The loss of the Iolaire in 1918 was a heavy blow for him. He thought about the boys who had died, the ones who had once attended his Sunday School.
He did a lot for the community. The Ness Historical Society wrote a pamphlet about him. It’s worth reading. And if you are ever in Ness, it’s a very special place to visit.
END.
Would you like to read this piece in Gaelic? You’ll find it here : Taigh Iain Fiosaich