Small Isles: Small Is Beautiful Grand Tours of the Scottish Islands

never-ending, like a river flowing up the escalator.

Scotland proudly boasts some of the most spectacular islands

to be found anywhere.

Amongst the Hebridean islands alone, you've the inner isles,

the outer isles and the Western Isles.

And we've also got a group of islands

best known for their unusual names.

I was a wee boy at primary school

where I first heard of the Small Isles and their crazy names -

Muck, Eigg and Rum.

Now, I didn't believe they could be real places,

and so my father showed me where they were on a map and proved it.

And now here they are.

I've always been drawn to islands and, in this series,

I'm setting out to discover the magic of

Scotland's amazing island riches.

There are nearly 300 offshore islands,

scattered around Scotland's 6,000 convoluted miles of coast.

And they come in all shapes and sizes.

The islands I'll be visiting on this grand tour may be small,

but each offers something very different.

The Small Isles are part of the Inner Hebrides

and lie in the often wild waters off the west coast of Scotland.

My journey will take me from the mainland to the tiny island of Muck.

From there, I am heading to the wilderness of Rum

and finally arriving on Eigg for a very special celebration.

That is the island of Muck.

It's the smallest of the Small Isles and, according to my map,

it's just 3½ kilometres long

and is just less than a kilometre wide at its narrowest.

Yet this tiny scrap of land is a place people called home.

The last time I took a ferry to the Small Isles, I was a student.

That was back in the 1980s and the ferry didn't dock in those days -

the piers weren't big enough - so passengers and goods

were transferred into an open boat for the last few yards to the shore.

I seem to remember a hair-raising climb down a ladder

into a small boat that was bobbing below.

It's good to see that things are less acrobatic now.

It may be remote and difficult to get to, but there's evidence

that people have lived here on Muck since the Stone Age.

It was home to Christian hermits, Viking invaders

and the Clan MacLean before it eventually fell into private hands

and was owned and run, like much of Scotland, by a landlord or laird.

And that's still the case today.

When the celebrated man of letters Dr Johnson visited the Hebrides

in 1773, he dined with the original Lord and Lady Muck.

Now, it seems that Lord Muck was, well, uncomfortable with the title

and tried to change the name of the island to Monk Island.

But it didn't catch on and Muck stuck, as they say.

Muck was bought in 1896 by the MacEwen family.

Today, the island has a population of about 38.

Good afternoon, Lawrence. Good afternoon, Paul.

I've come to meet its laird, Lawrence MacEwen.

Now, Lawrence, I'm not entirely sure how I should address you -

are you Lord Muck or the Laird of Muck?

My father was always called the laird, but I've...

That sits fairly gently on my shoulders -

I would rather be a farmer.

Did you ever get jibed when you were a kid at school, being Lord Muck?

I certainly did, yes. Yes, I got teased a lot.

It's a grand place to be a laird of. It is, yes.

Being the laird means that you get to decide who can come and live

on the island, as the MacEwen family own all of Muck

and the homes on it.

Opportunities to move here don't come up very often

as there are only a dozen or so houses available.

Some families have come and gone over the years,

but Lawrence has lived his whole life here.

What it's like when you leave the island? Are you shocked by..?

Well, yes. Yes.

I remember once I was on the train to Waterloo

and I stood at the top of the escalator

and I watched for 30 minutes and it was a constant flood of people -

never-ending, like a river flowing up the escalator.

So it's just interesting to reflect on living in a place

where you know nobody, but there's so many people.

Here, we know everybody and you hardly see a stranger.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I think the contrast is very nice.

I have to say that Lawrence is very different

from what I expected a laird to be. There are no airs and graces -

he's very much a working farmer.

It's certainly worth the effort coming up here, isn't it?

Yes, absolutely fantastic.

'Lawrence clearly loves this small island

'and it's not hard to see why.'

This is your domain, you're lord of everything you survey here.

What's it like owning an island?

I don't get up in the morning and think, "Isn't it wonderful?

"I own this." I'm just here for a short period.

I don't take the fact that it's mine too seriously, I think it belongs

to everybody who lives on it.

Well, I think you're a very lucky man, Lawrence, living here.

Well, it's nice to have you here.

And what a view.

The way the MacEwens run Muck seems to work.

But the history of land ownership has not always been a happy one

in the Hebrides.

And it's certainly a very different story at my next destination -

the Isle of Rum.

It was the Vikings' renowned seafaring skills which

brought them to these islands at the start of the 9th century.

That's the island of Rum behind me

and those extraordinary rugged mountains

form the island's signature skyline.

And they've got heroic names, too, these peaks -

there's Askival, Trollaval and Hallival -

named by the Vikings when they ruled this part of the Hebrides.

Compared to Muck, Rum is wilder, more rugged and much bigger.

This was an island which was once home to 400 people.

But when the islanders were forced to leave,

it became first an enormous sheep farm and then

a playground for rich Victorians who came here to shoot and fish.

Writer and geologist Hugh Miller visited here in 1844.

"In the entire prospect, not a man,

"nor a man's dwelling, could the eye command.

"The landscape was one without figures.

"I do not much like extermination carried out so thoroughly."

But, bizarrely, here on this vast, empty island,

visitors are greeted with a somewhat incongruous sight.

It's almost, well, surreal, really.

This vast, baronial pile is Kinloch Castle and

it didn't exist at all until multimillionaire industrialist

George Bullough had it built as the centrepiece for his island kingdom,

which he thought was going to last for generations.

But it didn't.

The Bullough family made their money from the textile industry

in the north of England.

And like many wealthy industrialists of the 19th century,

a sporting estate in Scotland was de rigueur.

Hi. Welcome to Kinloch Castle. Thanks very much.

'My guide today is Abby Dudgeon of Scottish Natural Heritage.'

It's a very sumptuous-looking entrance hall, I have to say.

Yes, George Bullough in the painting at the top here,

from Accrington in Lancashire, he built the castle in 1897.

Said to be one of the richest men in the world, he inherited this

island from his father and George decided

he wanted to build his dream castle, so that's what he did.

So no expense spared, then. No expense spared.

It cost about £250,000 to build it,

which nowadays would be about £15 million.

About 15 million? Yeah. It's very grand, I'd say. It is, yes.

The beautiful red sandstone was shipped from Arran, 180 miles away.

And it took a team of 300 men just over three years to turn

George's fantasy design into a reality.

NARRATOR: For a glittering decade before the Great War,

the dream came true.

The finest craftsmanship of Scottish workmen, the best furniture

and fittings that money could buy, from solid oak panelling or

silk wall hangings to the Steinway concert grand,

all made life more elegant and sophisticated for Lady Monica.

In 1903, George married society beauty Monique Lily de la Pasture

and her influence on this house can clearly be seen.

What a beautiful bedroom. So, yes, this was Lady Monique's bedroom.

This is her room. Yes. There's no sense of him here at all. No.

So, he actually lived on the other side of the castle,

and so she stayed here and her guests would stay on this side, as well,

and George's on the other side.

So, there's a kind of sexual divide running through the castle -

the men on one side and women on the other.

Who's to say her guests were all women, though? Oh, I see.

So she had a bit of a reputation, then, did she?

She did have a reputation, yes.

Whether it's true or not - a lot of rumours -

she was said to have had affairs.

Whether it was a marriage of love or a marriage of convenience,

I'd go with the convenience.

No expense was spared to provide for the entertainment

and comfort of the Bulloughs' guests.

Remarkably, this was one of the first houses in Scotland

to have electric light and a state-of-the-art plumbing system.

NARRATOR: Perhaps the ultimate in luxury was to soak away

the self-imposed hardships of a day's stalking on the hill

in the most elaborate shower bath ever invented.

A combination of spray, shower and douche designed to soothe

the tired sportsman from every direction at once.

Sir George saw himself as the sporting laird,

able to live in Rum with, of course, the help of many servants

in the true style of a gentleman of means.

The remoteness was to be no obstacle.

The castle was installed not just with suitable furnishings,

but with the first internal telephone system in Scotland.

And another example of Victorian ingenuity

is the castle's orchestrion,

apparently originally made for Queen Victoria.

MUSIC PLAYS

Sadly, it's not quite in tune any more.

But there's a fundraising campaign under way,

so hopefully it will one day soon be restored to its former glory.

Perhaps the best illustration of the Bulloughs' wealth

and privilege is this ornate ballroom...

..where servants were not allowed to set eyes on their betters.

They didn't allow staff in this room and if they wanted anything,

then they had the butler's hatch. Over here? Yes.

Right, this hatch is set into this panel of wall. Yes.

So, they'd write down whatever they wanted and put it in there.

Crisps, nuts, whisky? Yes.

And the butler would sit on the other side of that.

They'd shut the doors and then they'd knock from this side

and the butler would put in whatever they wanted. All very discreet.

Yes, they never really saw what actually went on in here.

He can't actually peer into this room to see what Bullough

and his guests were up to. No.

Whatever the evening's entertainment may have involved,

it was the sporting attractions of the island that the guests came for.

To find out how this wild and remote place

was turned into a private playground,

I'm taking a tour with rangers Lesley and Marcel.

We're heading for the empty quarter,

the stark interior of this magnificently wild island.

And it's not long before we come across a chilling reminder

of the troubled history of Rum.

It's a very distinctive lump of rock, that.

Yeah, this is known on Rum as the Clearance's Stone and the story

behind it was that the people of Rum rolled it into place

and left it behind before they were all shipped off to Canada

during the Clearances in about 1828.

So, it was kind of a display of, I guess, grief and defiance

at the same time, because this was the land of their ancestors.

They didn't want to go, they were very unhappy about it and there was

nothing they could do and they were shipped off to make space for sheep.

It's quite a poignant memorial, isn't it? It is, yeah.

With the people cleared off the island,

Victorian sportsmen came looking to pit themselves against nature.

But even the landscape had been managed to ensure

they wouldn't go home disappointed.

Over here, you can see the fish trap that was part

of an extensive network to divert water

to increase the fishing. That's amazing.

So they actually went about

diverting the natural course of a river?

Yea, they basically dammed off certain areas,

creating artificial lochs, to get salmon up those rivers, yes.

An amazing amount of effort went into simply

trying to hook a trout or a salmon.

Yes, yeah. A lot of work went into that -

probably 30 people working on this for several years.

NARRATOR: In the days of the Bulloughs,

this ten-pointer would have been a fine trophy.

He may hark back to the days when such a head would perhaps have been

reserved as a shot for an important guest,

but now the stalkers' quarry is probably a young stag,

to be culled for purely scientific reasons.

Yet the skill and the technique are the same.

The upwind stalk,

the slow, silent approach,

and the stealthy shot.

GUNSHOT

We're on our way to the remote and windswept Harris Bay

on the west coast of the island.

It's here that George and Monica Bullough chose to be buried.

And, of course, it's marked by a modest and unassuming monument.

Well, Lesley, this is the last place

you'd expect to see a Greek-style temple.

Yeah, it is quite odd-looking and a bit out of place.

I suppose that makes sense because, as I understand it,

the Bulloughs were all about appearance,

and that is quite imposing, quite grand,

it looks very regal, doesn't it?

Classical. Yeah, definitely makes a statement.

The Bulloughs have arrived.

Though they didn't stay long, did they, really?

No, Lady Monica was the last in the line to be buried there,

so in 1967 she made her final trip down the road

to be buried next to her husband.

This mausoleum marks the end of the road for the Bulloughs,

but for me, the Clearances Stone I saw earlier

tells the real story of Rum -

the contrast between people with no power and their absentee landlords.

Sailing to my final destination, there's a similar story,

but with a happier ending.

I'm heading for the Isle of Eigg.

Eigg might seem like a remote place, and of course in many ways it is,

but the island has been attracting visitors

since the very early days of tourism.

Many of those who ventured here were fascinated

by the island's colourful and often bloody past.

I've been told that somewhere along this coastline

is the scene of one of the darkest episodes in Eigg's history.

Here we are. That's what I've been looking for.

Now, this dark and sinister-looking opening

is known in Gaelic as Uamh Nan Fhraing,

which means the cave of Francis.

That's an innocent enough name, but it masks a ghastly history.

'This place came to be known as The Massacre Cave.'

It's very narrow.

'In the 16th century, the island of Eigg was the home of the MacDonalds,

'who were locked in a bitter feud with the Clan MacLeod of Skye.'

Back in 1577, the men of Skye invaded Eigg,

and when the islanders saw their boats coming they all hid down here.

It's reckoned there were up to 400 of them - men, women and children.

But they were discovered.

It was one of the worst massacres in clan history.

The invading the MacLeods lit a fire at the entrance to the cave

and suffocated everyone inside.

The entire population of the island perished,

and for centuries the bones lay where the victims died,

becoming an early and ghoulish tourist attraction.

One visitor was the Victorian geologist Hugh Miller. He wrote...

"At almost every step, we come upon heaps of human bones.

"The hapless islanders died in families,

"each little group separated by a few feet from the others."

Thankfully, the bones were removed and taken to the island church.

You know, I can't get that ghastly description out of my mind.

It's terrible to think what happened down here all those years ago,

so many lives lost.

I think it's time I returned to the daylight and got some fresh air.

Eigg was eventually resettled,

and by the 19th century there was a population of 500.

But, once again, sheep were seen as more profitable than people.

In the islands, it's almost impossible to escape

the legacy of the Clearances, and Eigg is no exception.

These ruins are all that's left

of the once thriving community of Gruilin.

This is a place where history speaks from the soil.

When this village was cleared in 1853,

many of its people moved away to Canada.

With them went a language, a culture, and a way of life.

Eigg never fully recovered from the devastating effects of depopulation.

By the time of the Second World War, just 47 people lived there.

The island's fortunes were at a low ebb.

Throughout the latter part of the 20th century,

a succession of owners came and went,

while the island and its dwindling population

suffered from years of neglect.

NARRATOR: Islanders pay the same council tax

as everyone else in the Highlands, but they've no electricity,

no mains water or sewerage and no rubbish collection.

People don't invest in the houses or the businesses.

People want to develop the island and the various aspects of it,

but they're not being given the chance at the moment.

For the increasingly disgruntled islanders, the final straw

came in the late 1990s, when the island was sold again.

Eigg's tenth laird, like those who had gone before,

came with big promises and grand plans.

I can remember this mysterious German artist who called himself Maruma

who appeared one day out of the blue, out of the sky in a helicopter.

SHE LAUGHS

'I've come to meet Maggie Fyffe,

'who was very much involved in the struggle to oust Eigg's enigmatic Laird.'

He appeared as if he was listening to you,

was sympathetic to your ideas? Yeah. He took away all our...

You know, all the work we'd done on how we saw Eigg developing

and he disappeared for a few months,

and then he turned up with this huge bit of paper,

which he called his "concept".

SHE LAUGHS

And that's the last we ever saw him.

Maruma owned Eigg for two years.

and during that time he did absolutely nothing here.

He did absolutely nothing.

So that sort of convinced everybody

that we could actually do a better job than that.

The islanders decided enough was enough and began to fight back.

We launched a fundraising appeal. We raised over 1.5 million.

And that came from over 10,000 members of the general public.

That's amazing, isn't it? Yeah. It was incredible.

What do you think that level of public support says about

the way people feel about landlords and the traditional highland model?

An awful lot of people supported it

because they supported the idea of land reform,

and the idea of the little guy beating the big guy

is always kind of attractive, isn't it?!

In 1997, the people of Eigg finally won their battle

and took control of their own destiny.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

It was sometimes quite hard to believe it was ever going to happen, it was a long, long struggle,

but due to all the support we've been given from...

Just everywhere - I mean, that's been the most amazing thing

through this whole, whole campaign.

APPLAUSE

Ever since, the occasion is marked with an annual celebration.

We have a big ceilidh.

Well, I think I might join you later on.

It's something I enjoy helping out with, a wee bit of a celebration.

As you can see, people are gathering from far and wide.

We've got people camping over year, a campfire going

to keep the midges at bay, and at the end of the road here

I can hear the strains of music playing,

because tonight is when the people of Eigg and their friends

from all over the world gather to celebrate ownership of the island.

There are a lot of people on the island who are very happy

with how things have turned out.

It's almost like their Independence Day.

These islanders are living in exciting times.

They've taken control of their future

and are writing the next chapter of the island's story for themselves.

And that truly is something to celebrate.

Now, I can hazily recall being told last night

that there is one final thing I must do before I leave Eigg,

and that is to scale the heights of the landmark

that dominates this island.

The mighty Sgurr.

I'm following in the footsteps of Sarah Murray,

the indefatigable crinoline-clad lady adventurer.

She came here in 1802, and in her

Companion And Useful Guide To The Beauties Of Scotland, she writes...

"The first clear morning after my arrival in Eigg

"I mounted a pony and began my journey to the Sgurr,

"accompanied by my friends on foot."

She was thrilled by the sublime spectacle of the Sgurr,

a vast prow of volcanic rock that towers over the island.

And I can see why she was impressed.

Here we are, at long last.

The summit of the mighty Sgurr.

When Sarah Murray got there,

she had a picnic and admired the view,

which, I have to say, is pretty stupendous.

To the south, I can just make out the tiny island of Muck,

where my journey began.

Dominating the horizon to the north is the imposing skyline of Rum.

And the beautiful coastline of Eigg far below.

These islands may not be the biggest I've visited,

but what they lack in size they make up for in character.

Small really can be beautiful.

Join me on my next Grand Tour, when I'm on an island pilgrimage

following in the footsteps of the saints

to visit Lismore, Colonsay and Oronsay.

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