A Case Of Family Values An Island Parish

It's nearing the height of the summer season

on the tiny Scottish island of Barra,

the most southerly inhabited island of the Outer Hebrides,

and the place certainly looks beautiful enough.

Arrivals and departures on the island's unusual beach airport

attract the attention of passing visitors' coaches.

The planes can only use the beach when the tide is low,

so it's a very unusual sight.

But the islanders know they must develop many more activities

for the holidaymakers

if they are really to remain a tourist destination.

The season's not been helped by some very unpredictable weather.

On the quay at the main harbour at Castlebay,

they're getting ready for the biggest event of the summer,

the Outdoor Fishermen's Mass,

when the whole community gathers to pray for the fishermen,

and they're desperate for some sun.

In such a small, interdependent community,

everyone here seems to rely on everyone else.

The Fishermen's Mass is also a big opportunity

for Sheila, Barra's only ice cream lady.

She's hoping to sell more of her home-made ice cream today

than any other day of the year,

but poor weather could cut her potential earnings by half.

I got up this morning and it was really awful.

It's cold as well as being damp.

-Are you ever tempted not to bother?

-No.

No, I have gone out with ice cream in horrendous conditions,

with a gale and the rain pouring in

and the cones falling over and collapsing.

-So you're going to go down there, come what may?

-Yes.

It's the one big day in Barra, makes you part of the scene,

the fabric of the island.

You're part of the community.

Fishing still generates

more employment on Barra than anything else.

And this is a chance for the island to give thanks for its survival.

But recent proposals to ban trawling in newly-created conservation areas

around the island's coastline

has made everyone jittery about the future.

So it's not just Sheila who's been living on nerves.

The Fishermen's Mass also marks one of the busiest periods of the year

for the Roman Catholic parish priest, Father John Paul MacKinnon.

One of his problems is that although he looks after a small population,

it's geographically spread far and wide.

'Probably 1,200 on the island, but we've got many churches.

'A number of parishioners would love for the priest to be at their church all the time,

'but I can't split myself up, it's just physically impossible.'

I just can't be everywhere at the same time.

That's when I really, I really look for a bit of help.

As well as the five churches on his own island of Barra,

Father John Paul's parish extends to the next door island of Vatersay.

There's one church and almost the entire population attend regularly.

And amazingly, there's a priest, living miles away,

who's been coming here for years to help out whenever he can.

I have a real good friend, a priest that I've gotten to know

since arriving in the parish,

and he's been absolutely great in coming here

and really giving me a helping hand and I really appreciate

all the work that he does in helping me here in the parish.

SIREN BLARES

150 miles away, a different world.

The bustling metropolis of Glasgow,

and home to Father Peter Banyard.

Father Peter is a Jesuit who's agreed to be sent

by his superiors on any mission, anywhere in the world.

To be a Jesuit means to belong to a religious order,

the Society of Jesus.

Most priests belong to a particular diocese.

Jesuits are worldwide.

As a Jesuit, he works wherever he's told,

but in his time off, he can go anywhere he wishes.

And Father Peter loves nothing more than escaping from the noise

of the city to the wide open spaces of the Outer Hebrides.

And in particular, the peace and tranquillity of Vatersay.

Meanwhile on Barra, and on the main quay at Castlebay,

the crowds are beginning to gather for the Fishermen's Mass.

But it's still looking gloomy

and Sheila's ice cream van seems a bit forlorn.

Today is Sea Sunday.

I welcome you all to a Fishermen's Mass and the blessing of the boats.

Leading the ceremony is Father John Paul.

He's all too aware of how important the fishermen are to the islands

and how hard their lives can be.

Our fishermen face many hurdles, many obstacles in their lives.

The quotas they try to get, the fuel prices,

the worries about no-go areas, so many difficulties they face,

and that is why we are all united in offering our prayers, our prayers

of support to our fishermen,

not just today, but every day.

Then, maybe as an omen of better days ahead,

the full sun breaks through at last.

Perfect timing for Father John Paul's traditional blessing of the boats,

which is still taken very seriously.

Round at the back of the quay, suddenly Sheila's in business.

Here we go.

-Sun's come out.

-I know.

What a difference it makes, yes. It makes a difference to everybody.

But you're rushed off your feet.

-There's a great queue here.

-Yes!

Right, who's for next?

After being blessed, the ships proudly parade around the bay.

For Sheila, today was always going to be much more

than just about selling ice cream.

It's just a very special day.

The locals come down with their families. It's a real celebration

and something the children will remember when they grow up.

It's part of the culture of the island, really.

I mean, as long as Barra is Barra, it will continue to be a big day.

-How's it gone, Sheila?

-Oh, very well.

-Are you pleased?

-Yes!

Finally comes the highlight of the whole event,

a poignant symbol of the past, and, many hope, of the future too.

Am I doing it properly?

Hundreds of fresh, grilled herring

are handed out to everyone on the quay,

cooked in the traditional way, and washed down with free wine.

They simply can't produce this stuff fast enough.

It was herring that laid the foundation for Barra's original

and highly successful fishing industry, generations ago.

Even today, if you know where to look, you can see evidence

around Castlebay of what a huge business it was.

Islander Carrie MacNeil

has been researching those heady days of island history.

At university, I was looking for a topic to do for my dissertation

and they suggested, why don't I do the herring industry in Barra?

And I didn't really know much about it.

I'd heard bits and pieces about how they used to have

a herring industry here, so I did a bit of research and I realised

down in front of my dad's house,

there was old wrecks of fishing boats.

It was massive here. It was, about 500 boats would come into the bay.

-500 boats?

-500 boats.

They used to say you could walk from Castlebay

over to Vatersay over the boats.

-Walking on the boats?

-That were in the bay.

-Across the water?

It was like a forest of masts as well.

They used to say it was like all these,

just like a forest in front of you.

-And this was one of them?

-This was one of them, yes.

Up above the harbour is the Castlebay Hotel,

where guests can have a rare glimpse

of the herring industry at its height.

I knew that there was a herring industry in Barra,

but I didn't know the extent, how important and how big it was

and the huge impact it did have on the island itself.

The biggest thing it did was give employment to the local women

on the island as well.

This would be the remains of an old pier.

This would be a herring curing station.

Over 1,000 people would be working at the fishing.

-Which for a small island like this is absolutely massive.

-It's huge.

One of the reasons that the church was actually built

was because of the herring industry.

The church they had before

was kind of bursting at the seams as it was.

That's one of the reasons why the church is up there.

With the support of the Island Council,

Carrie's determined to bring the extraordinary story

of Barra's herring industry to a much wider audience.

What started out as a simple university project

could become a big draw to the holidaymakers

Barra badly needs to help secure its future.

Almost exactly a year ago, Father John Paul's newest

and youngest parishioner arrived on the islands

to be greeted by his new grandmother, Clare MacLeod.

He's gorgeous.

You're just gorgeous.

Little Robbie was born in a mainland maternity hospital

and arrived home aged just two days.

Robbie was joining one of the biggest

and best-known families on Barra,

and at his baptism, still regarded here as a major occasion,

he spent most of the time in the arms of his mum, Mairi,

a well-known nurse in Barra's tiny hospital.

I baptise you in the name of the father...

His granny Clare is only too aware

of how privileged her new grandson is to be brought up

in such a safe and caring community.

I think we still have the balance right here.

We live very closely with nature, and that brings a kind of calmness

and a deep peace that you have here that you maybe wouldn't get

somewhere else, and I think it rubs off on the kids.

Now, one year on, another important family gathering is taking place.

-Happy birthday!

-It's Robbie's first birthday.

And his dad, who like many island men

works on the North Sea oil rigs, is back in time to supervise the food.

He just came home last night and he was away for four weeks,

which isn't unusual.

It's not easy, but it's part of the way of life on the island.

The boys speak to him on the phone

and it's easier now with computers and things.

You can keep in touch a lot more.

It's the way we were brought up,

and it's the way the boys will be brought up.

You just get on with it, really.

Yes, it would be good to have him home, obviously.

It's hard going if you know

something is going to happen when you're away.

I'm quite lucky to get the birthday, but sometimes you've got to work.

Over Christmas, New Year, things like that.

It's quite hard to take, you know, but you've got to do it.

You've got to do it to get the pennies in.

Island men have always worked offshore.

Before the oil rigs, many left

to travel the world with the Merchant Navy, and some still do.

That's why Barra remains a famously matriarchal society.

We always say that Barra's governed by strong women,

but it's just by virtue of what the island menfolk do.

They're away, working hard and providing for their families.

Mairi's husband works away from home,

and both my sons go away from home for long spells.

-Dad did when we were growing up.

-It's just an accepted way of life.

It makes the homecomings all the nicer.

-Does this look anything like a train?

-Yes.

# Happy birthday to you... #

Whilst relishing the new grandson's birthday,

in fact Clare's mind is becoming increasingly focused

on a much grander family celebration just around the corner.

One of her twin sons, Lachie,

is marrying a girl from the next-door parish, and it promises

to be the biggest wedding of the year in this part of the world.

Clare's hoping that the family menfolk, spread far and wide,

will all be able to get home in time.

Just off Barra's south west coastline,

the much smaller island famed for its fabulous beaches is Vatersay.

It has a population of less than 100 spread across a handful of crofts.

It boasts what is probably Britain's smallest post office

and is linked to Barra by a short causeway.

At the little church today, there's a very familiar face in charge.

Father Peter Banyard from Glasgow.

For many years now, there's only one place he wants to be

whenever he can get away from the city.

40 years ago, I came up the old slipway and I saw the view

across the bay to the beach and I just thought, this is it.

It struck a poetical note in me.

Then one met the people, and they were so welcoming and so friendly.

May Almighty God have mercy on us.

Forgive us our sins and bring us to everlasting life.

And we gather this morning in the Name of the Father,

and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

And the peace of the Lord be with you always.

-CONGREGATION:

-And also with you.

And we offer each other a sign of that peace.

'A very strong sense of community.'

'People know each other and they know their families. It's lovely.'

Father Peter is about to celebrate

his 40th anniversary of first visiting the island.

And he's never missed a year.

He stays in rooms attached to the church that were built

to house the visiting parish priest from Castlebay

if the weather got too bad for him to get home safely.

So why haven't you ever come to live here?

Well, I belong to a religious order, the Jesuits, so I go where I'm told.

Father Peter loves to walk the island.

Although quite shy and self-effacing,

the priest loves nothing better than to catch up with old friends

who've known him for most of those 40 years.

People like Maggie "Scraggy Aggie" MacKinnon.

-Hello. How are you?

-Good morning, Father. Come in. In here.

-How are you?

-I'm all right, how are you?

Scraggy always insists that anyone calling round has a wee welcome,

a drop of the hard stuff, even if it is only mid-morning.

Well, tell me something, would you like a wee whiskey to begin?

-No, thanks.

-Are you sure?

-No, thank you.

-Are you sure?

-Quite sure. Thank you very much.

-She can be very persuasive.

Father, it's very, very good for you and gives you an upsurge in life.

Oh, good.

-Now, are you sure?

-Yes. A wee drop.

-You'll have a welcome now!

A wee drop.

-Plenty! Hey, hey, hey, you'll hurt me!

-That's a big one, Maggie.

I've got throwing hands, you might say.

You must remember I'm English and I can't take it that strong.

Slainte. Good health. That's you. Slainte.

-How's that going down?

-It's going down very well. Very well indeed.

What do you think of the fact he has been coming here all these years?

All these years, he's been marvellous. He really has.

Been very faithful to the island. People love him.

They come over from Glasgow when Father Peter's here to attend Mass.

And he's excellent.

-What do you think of that, Father Peter?

-Wonderful people.

I'd never met the like before I came to Vatersay,

and that's really, I suppose, the main reason why I come to Vatersay

because of the people.

A wee joke here and there, Father.

-A wee joke here and there, Father.

-And a wee drop here and there.

One of the most familiar sights on Barra is the council dustcart

which hoves into view somewhere or other nearly every day of the week.

In charge is one of the island's great characters,

Donnie the Dustman. Donnie McNeil.

And it's his daughter Carrie who is now making

her own mark on island life.

Can you push it down a bit?

Down on the foreshore by the harbour at Castlebay,

Carrie's History of the Herring Industry

is about to become a reality.

Her story is to be unveiled on a series of old fish barrels

that line the newly-created tourist trail by the beach.

He's just been helping me putting the things in place.

He's kind of been my joiner. So I've had to put up with him.

It's so true.

That's what it should look like.

She's done a fantastic job.

She's composed all the stuff herself as well.

All this Gaelic stuff, in the native tongue.

SHE SPEAKS GAELIC

At the end of the 19th century and the start of the 20th century,

herring fishing was one of the main fishery in the world.

The vision has come together.

This is the way I wanted it to look, so I'm very happy.

The herring were called the Silver Darlings,

so that's the idea I had.

When you look along here, you'll see this glittering silver

all the way along.

And you'll see it from the road as well, and also the wee fish,

they're like a wee shoal.

It's a visual thing.

I think tourism is good for the islands.

I like people coming to Barra

so they can see what a beautiful place it is.

That's what's good about tourism for me.

I hope people can understand and realise people and their families

and grandads, and great grandads, and their grandmothers were involved

in such a thing and hopefully they'd feel proud about the place

that Castlebay and Barra had in the wider fishing industry at the time.

This whole project will make people think

and hopefully show them that there used to be something here

and maybe there'll be something here again.

-This is fantastic. It is amazing.

-Are you proud of her?

-Very proud.

I'm always proud of her, whatever she does.

Whether it's this or just when she's lying in in the morning,

I'm still proud of her.

-Excuse me!

-12 o'clock in the afternoon. I'm still proud.

That is not true. Thanks(!)

Over on Vatersay, and Father Peter is still pounding the beat.

One of his oldest friends is Dee Dee Campbell.

He wants to ensure his fellow octogenarian

will be at a big celebration planned for later tonight.

Very good. Lovely. Thank you very much.

So I hope you're coming along this evening to the mass

at 6 o'clock in the church.

-You bet. I'll be there, all right.

-Will you be wearing a kilt tonight?

No, I'm afraid I haven't got a kilt.

If I had a kilt, it would be,

I'm afraid to say to a Campbell, it would be a MacDonald one,

-because I have a little MacDonald blood still in my veins.

-You have?

-Yes, indeed.

-Have you got a kilt you could lend him for tonight?

-I've never worn it.

-You've never worn a kilt?

-No.

-Why not?

I prefer the dungarees.

LAUGHTER

Virtually every single islander

is attending Father Peter's celebration mass this evening.

The church has rarely been so packed.

This is, after all, a chance to say thank you to the man

who has christened and married many of the people here tonight.

We are gathered here for a very particular reason this evening,

because we are celebrating Father Peter's 50th anniversary

of his priesthood, but also it's 40 years that he's been coming

faithfully to his beloved island of Vatersay, so we celebrate that also.

A few months ago he celebrated his birthday,

and he's hit the fine mark of 80.

So we have three lovely celebrations under one umbrella this evening.

So, if I can ask Mairi and Ma to come forward on behalf

of the parish here to present Father Peter with his chasuble.

This chasuble, or ceremonial cape,

has been specially made for Father Peter by the ladies of the parish

and will only be worn by him on his future visits here.

Father Peter can only stay on his beloved Vatersay

for a few short periods each year.

So whilst he's here,

he's determined to make the most of every minute.

Every time I come here and I stand and I look over the beach,

and some days it's smooth and calm,

and other days it's very rough and wonderful waves come in,

and then it's grey, but other days it's blue and green,

and, oh, it's so beautiful.

And somehow, it always brings back to memory the old people

whom I first knew in Vatersay.

Lovely, lovely people who made me so welcome.

And do you see yourself being laid to rest here one day?

I would like to be, but I think it is very unlikely.

Why do you say that?

Well, because Jesuits are normally buried

in a bit of Jesuit ground in a cemetery.

No exceptions?

No exceptions, I think. But yes, in spirit, I would be buried here.

A few days later,

and Father Peter is returning to his other life in the heart of the city.

He's looking forward to coming back to the islands

at the first available opportunity.

The wedding's on Friday, so when do the kilts come?

My goodness. It's cutting it all very fine, isn't it?

With her son Lachie's wedding imminent,

a nervy Clare is busy helping organise final arrangements.

The event is taking place across the water,

over in the next-door parish of Eriskay on South Uist.

Preparations are well under way for what promises to be

the wedding of the year.

Lachie, one of her twin sons,

is sitting his final seamanship exam just 48 hours before the wedding.

And when does his exam finish?

12.30! And when's his flight?

So check-in at 1.30. So he's cutting it pretty fine, isn't he?

With flights to the island scarce, Clare's starting to worry

that he might not make it over in time to walk up the aisle.

He could miss his own wedding. Oh my goodness!

OK, then. Thanks for that.

I'll phone you in my next bout of anxiety.

OK, then. Thanks just now. Bye.

He can't get a flight to Barra, so he has to fly to Benbecula,

and if the plane doesn't go for any reason,

he's missed the ferry that evening,

and the flights are full the next day.

So it's kind of stressful.

He's trying to focus on his studies and then at 12.30

he'll be focusing on the panic of getting here, really.

You've always got to have Plan B,

C, D, but I don't think Lachie has any plans.

-So there's no Plan B if he misses his plane?

-No Plan B.

-His twin could maybe stand in for him.

-If he misses the flight?

If he misses the flight.

Father Peter's recent visit has sparked a new interest

in the history of his parish in Father John Paul's mind,

and in particular the history of Vatersay.

In fact, there's a lot more to this place than meets the eye.

Almost the entire population is descended from a small group

of families who came here after being forced to leave

an even more remote island off Barra a century ago.

It's a trip Father John Paul has been wanting to do

ever since he first arrived,

to investigate the mysterious story of Vatersay's origins.

Where are we off to today, Father John Paul?

Just a couple of islands south of Vatersay.

People used to live in it and they had a lovely community

from what I could gather, a close-knit community.

They had a school, a church, but now there's no-one there

and it's just desolate.

Totally uninhabited,

just ruins everywhere, and every ruin will tell a story.

Also in the days to come,

the ferry from Barra is taken over by wedding guests

heading for what should be a memorable moment

in the life of the Isles.

-How are you feeling about today, then?

-Very excited.

A bit nervous, but very excited.

And friends seek out an extraordinary range of wedding gifts

to help the big day go with a swing.

One of our friends was outfished.

Only the best for your daughter's wedding, then?

Of course. These are the smaller ones.

The bigger ones are coming later.