Western Isles and Shetland Coast

The seas around Scotland

are a paradise of islands -

700 at least.

Some rise up in majestic splendour,

others barely break the surface.

The Scottish Isles are home

to some of the most close-knit communities in Britain,

people ringed by the sea.

It's their provider, their adversary

and their inspiration.

Our journey will explore the lifestyles

forged by this extraordinary land and seascape.

On Shetland, Miranda goes potty over ponies.

At Fingal's Cave, Hermione seeks out the inspiration

behind a world-famous melody.

Neil discovers how a disaster at sea broke the heart of an entire island.

The clock stopped, the world changed.

And I'm unravelling Harris tweed,

handmade by foot.

This is Coast.

We're sampling the delights of the Scottish Isles.

My journey will take me across the islands of the Outer Hebrides.

I'll be heading for Port of Ness,

but I begin in the south, on Eriskay.

Arriving somewhere new,

my first instinct is to make for the centre of town.

Never mind the centre, where's the town?

There are just 100 or so islanders,

but they're spread over six square miles.

With so much space to do their own thing,

I'm keen to know what binds Eriskay people together.

What is it that creates an island's special community?

The focus of village life is the local shop.

This is a real Aladdin's cave.

The islanders run the shop themselves, to suit their needs.

-Wooden clothes pegs!

-Yes.

I didn't know those were still available.

-Special socks for wellington boots.

-Yes.

-Does it rain here?

-Oh, not really.

This isn't just the only shop on Eriskay, it's the Post Office too.

-Hello.

-Hello.

-Are you Patrick?

-I am Patrick, yes.

-How do you do, I'm Nick. Can I come round the back?

-You can indeed, yes.

-Hello there.

-Hello.

Are these all your customers on the island, the people you deliver letters to?

That's all the customers on the island, yes.

-You've got them labelled by all their Christian names.

-Labelled by name yes, yes.

-Most of the other Post Offices, they go by the numbers.

-Yeah.

-But I just go name and that's it.

You must know the island better than anybody. Would you take me for a spin?

I will indeed, yes.

How many jokes do you have to put up with about Postman Pat, given your name is Patrick?

Quite a few actually, quite a few.

What where you doing before you were Eriskay's postie?

Well, I was 15 and a half when I left home and went to sea,

into the Merchant Navy.

I did that for 20 years,

but every time I was coming home it was getting harder to go away.

So I became the postman, and 20 years later I'm still here.

There's something about the islands out here that really draw you back.

The Scottish islands nurture communities

and they can also inspire individuals.

Around 40 miles south-east of Eriskay

there's a tiny lump of rock

with a grand musical reputation...

Staffa.

Hermione is on her way to the island

to explore its inspirational sound.

For centuries, Staffa has been a place of pilgrimage,

for scientists, painters and musicians.

Undoubtedly, the most famous composer to come to Staffa

was this man, Felix Mendelssohn.

Inspired by his visit here in 1829,

Mendelssohn wrote the Hebrides Overture,

also known as Fingal's Cave.

For nearly 200 years,

this music has been associated with this island,

or more exactly, this cave.

'I'm here with musician Seonaid Aitken, who's packed her violin,

'and David Sharp, an acoustics expert from the Open University,

'who's brought his microphones.

'We're going to investigate the musical qualities

'of an awesome natural wonder.'

I am absolutely blown away by this cave.

I can't help thinking about what Mendelssohn would have thought, seeing this for the first time.

It is truly inspiring.

'Its Gaelic name, Uamh-Binn,

'means melodious cave,

'so-called after the musical sounds the cave produces

'as the waves rush in.'

When Mendelssohn's overture was first performed,

it was called the Isles of Fingal.

It's better known today as Fingal's Cave.

So what is it about the cave that is so inspiring?

VIOLIN PLAYS

David Sharp, our acoustics expert,

is preparing to test the cave's musical quality,

armed with his microphone,

and Seonaid Aitken is tuning up.

She's our one-woman orchestra.

Fingal's Cave is often described as a natural concert hall,

but how do the acoustics compare with a modern auditorium?

The sound is so different as you just come through the mouth of the cave to where we are here.

It just completely changes. It's so reverberant in here, isn't it?

It's just so echoey.

'Maybe that's the musical secret of this chamber - its reverberation -

'so that's what David's going to measure.'

And how is the gun going to help us measure reverberation?

OK, well, the thing about a gun is

that the gunshot is a very high-energy burst of sound.

So we get the initial burst of sound,

and then we get reflected sound -

reverberating sound dying away slowly afterwards -

and we're going to measure that.

So my job is to fire the gun?

Don't forget your ear defenders.

No! Thank you.

OK.

-Has it shown up on the trace?

-It has shown up very nice.

This big jump up is you firing the gun

and then you can see that the sound level drops off quite gradually

as we get the reflected sound just dying away slowly.

So, actually, the reverberation time is about four seconds.

Most concert halls are designed to have a reverberation time

somewhere around two seconds.

A cathedral - St Paul's Cathedral -

over ten seconds, maybe eleven or twelve.

So St Paul's - incredibly echoey. Much more than in Fingal's Cave.

More so than here. But this is more echoey than a concert hall,

so it's kind of part-way between a concert hall and a cathedral

in terms of its acoustics.

Now that you know the cave has a reverberation time of four seconds,

do you think that gives you an insight

into how this place inspired Mendelssohn?

I think it does, actually. I mean, it's the waves that inspired him

and it's this four-second reverberation time

which is one of the main factors

in causing this change to the sound of the waves.

VIOLIN PLAYS HEBRIDES OVERTURE

Fingal's Cave attracts tourists by the score.

Today, they're in for a treat,

a performance of Mendelssohn's overture

in the cave that helped inspire it.

The locals have learned to make the most of their island companions,

whether they're fish, fowl, or any other creatures.

In the far north, there's a small animal business on Shetland

that's enjoyed big success.

Miranda is sizing up the stock.

For over 4,000 years, these little ponies have roamed around Shetland

and you'll find them throughout the islands, grazing by the roadside,

over on the hills, and even down on the beach.

Come on then.

Today, Shetland ponies are sold worldwide as pets and show horses,

but just look at this photograph, going back over 150 years.

The ponies from that island were destined for a life in heavy industry.

They were to swap the fresh air of Shetland

for the coal dust and claustrophobia of a life underground as a pit pony.

'I'm with John Scott and we're going to the Isle of Noss.

'It was the site of a breeding programme to produce a super-pony,

'fit for hauling loads of coal.

'The finest mares and stallions

'were kept on the island in splendid isolation.

'This building was used to breed the best of the bunch.'

They finally bred this stallion, who they named Jack of Noss,

who was the kind of ultimate of what they had been breeding for.

He was, I think the kind of Brad Pitt of the pony world, you know.

Brad Pitt pit pony! Great.

And so he became...the foundation of the whole stud-book,

and so every Shetland pony in the stud-book

has got blood from Jack of Noss.

-From right from here?

-Right from here.

It wasn't looks the breeders were after, but size and strength.

And they succeeded.

The Shetland pony could haul tubs of coal weighing up to a tonne.

Those dark days are over.

Jack of Noss has long gone,

but his hardy characteristics live on in the DNA of these Shetland ponies.

That's why they'll comfortably bear the weight of an adult.

So I couldn't resist a ride.

SHE LAUGHS

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Many of the Scottish Isles

have managed to export their products far out across the seas.

The Outer Hebrides can boast their own global brand.

That's what brought me to Tarbert, on Harris.

This is what I'm after.

Harris Tweed.

-Hello there.

-Hi there.

-May I look at your jackets?

Yes, of course. Just got some over here.

-Look at those. They're very evocative.

-Yeah, they are.

They're the colours of Scotland, with the grey rock, the heather...

And then this one seems to have little traces of blue in it, and awesome colours.

It's got lots of colours in it. Would you like to try one?

-Yeah, why not.

-We can try this one.

This will be a sartorial leap for me,

to get rid of the old anorak and present Coast in a genuine Harris...

-Oh, it's very comfortable.

-How's that for you?

-It's lovely.

Oh, yes. Now that really is an improvement, don't you think?

-Yes.

-Coast and beyond!

There's a reason why the colours of Harris Tweed mirror the landscape.

Originally, the dyes were produced by local plants and lichens.

'Textile designer Alice Starmore

is going to show me how it was done.'

-Very good to meet you.

-You too.

-Looks like you've got things started already.

-Yes. I have lit the peat fire.

I have the water, which obviously you need for dyeing as well.

I have the fleece, and the only thing I need now is the crottal lichen,

which is going to actually give me the colour.

What are we looking out for?

Well, we're looking out for a very unassuming,

and drab, grey, crusty stuff,

which actually is black crottal.

And here is a very nice crop of it.

Oh, is this it here?

-This is it.

-It looks like a spillage of very old porridge.

It does, but the dye comes out of it very easily.

It's a beautiful rich bronze-brown shade that you get from it

and you can see that it's actually ready to come right off the rock here.

The Harris people would say that was ripe and ready.

'Some lichens are protected, but this one's safe to pick.

'Even so, we're just taking enough to dye one small fleece.'

-Now for the exciting part.

-Time to get the pot.

'First, take one scoured fleece and moisten with peat-rich spring water.'

We're not just bunging it in, we're going to layer it a bit.

It's important that the dye should be as even as possible.

-It's a bit like making lasagne!

-It is a bit, yes!

And it is - the whole thing is a little bit like cooking.

Pour in the water.

Yes.

And as it slowly comes to the boil, rather like a stew,

all the products will come out and dye the fleece.

'While we wait for the chemistry to cook,

'Alice has some samples to show me.

All colours produced from local lichens and plants.' Look at that.

It's like silverweed and ragweed.

Here are the crottal colours

and here is the rich dark colour that you would get from cooking it overnight, as it where.

OK, it's been cooking for some time now, Alice.

-It's a rich, deep colour, isn't it?

-It's beginning to get orange.

Look at that.

That's it in the early stages, so you can see what a slow and painstaking process it was.

The rules governing the Harris Tweed trademark are strict.

The cloth must be woven by the people of the Outer Hebrides

in their own homes.

MECHANICAL WHIRRING

I can hear clattering machinery.

'Donald John Mackay has been busy with the fabric for over 40 years.'

My goodness!

So, Donald, how is the loom powered?

-By my feet.

-Oh, I see, so handmade really means...

-Means foot power, yes.

-So you cannot have an electric...

-No! No, no, no.

What's this roll going to be used for?

This is going to Nike for shoes and bags.

-Really?

-Yes.

-To Nike?

-Yes.

-The big sports manufacturer?

-Yes, the big... yes, yes, yes.

That's incredible. And what about the threads themselves?

See, each thread is made up of many, many colours.

-Isn't that extraordinary? When you look closely, it's a whole rainbow of colours.

-Comes alive.

Comes alive, exactly! It really comes alive.

Well, that's Harris Tweed for you.

'The colours of the island

'inspire the blends and patterns of the cloth.

'So I want to see what it looks like in the landscape.'

-Now, let's have a look, Donald.

-Now...

-Wow!

I can see the yellow of the wild grasses out there, coming on the cloth, and the heather.

And you can see there the grass, the lighter one there.

The roots, the grass, the darker one down there.

There's blue in there too. See the sea beyond?

It's all there in front of us.

It's as if you've unrolled the surface of the Outer Hebrides and carried it into your loom.

Harris is separated from Lewis in name only.

They're parts of the same island,

separated not by water,

but by a range of mountains.

Across those peaks, on the east coast,

lies the capital of Lewis, Stornoway.

A disaster at sea nearly a century ago shocked this community so much,

the pain is still raw today.

It's a tragic tale, not often told to outsiders,

that Neil knows well.

In the First World War,

half the male population of Lewis served in the armed forces.

Many never returned,

but some perished cruelly close to home.

More than 200 servicemen died in a disaster off the Scottish coast,

just days after the Great War ended.

It's late on New Year's Eve 1918,

a cold, dark, end to a terrible year.

But the men onboard the Iolaire are in high spirits

because they're going home.

The war is over.

They were on a large civilian yacht, pressed into war service

and renamed Her Majesty's Yacht Iolaire.

By 1.50 in the morning, the boat was almost home.

The servicemen aboard could see the harbour lights of Stornoway.

They knew their loved ones would be lining the quayside at Stornoway,

just half a mile away.

But most of the men crammed aboard the Iolaire that night

would never see their families again.

Minutes later, in stormy seas,

the Iolaire struck a notorious reef - the Beasts Of Holm.

They were only 30 yards from land,

but of the 285 men onboard, just 80 survived.

More than half of those that did survive

owed their lives to one man aboard the stricken ship,

John Finlay MacLeod, a Lewis man,

a boat builder, in fact.

Somehow, amid the chaos,

he managed to half-scramble, half-swim ashore

with a line tied around his wrist.

This monument stands on the spot where John Finlay swam ashore.

Interviewed in 1973, he recalled that night.

40 survivors owed their lives to the courage of John Finlay MacLeod,

but 205 men died on that last night of 1918.

When dawn finally broke that New Year's Day,

the people of Lewis were greeted to a dreadful sight.

There's a photograph showing the wreck of the Iolaire,

the bulk of her still submerged, and just the mast sticking out.

As news of the Iolaire disaster spread,

people walked the coastline, looking for relatives.

At Sandwick Bay, they found only dozens of bodies.

Servicemen returning from the Great War.

These Scots didn't die on the foreign field, but in home water,

within sight of safety.

Relatives and friends, looking for loved ones,

picked their way through the wreckage of the Iolaire

and what they found were toys,

presents that fathers never got the chance to give to children.

In a remote part of Lewis,

four-year-old Marion Smith was waiting for her father.

-Oh, hello. Come in.

-Hello, Marion.

'Kenneth Smith survived the Great War, but only his suitcase made it back home.'

In his possessions that they found on the beach,

-they found this box that we have here.

-M-hmm.

Inside it are ration cards,

with which they were issued.

-So that's your dad, Kenneth Smith.

-Yes.

And he should have been on leave from the 30th December 1918

until the 14th January 1919.

That made it home and he didn't.

What do you remember about your mum

on the night when the news arrived at the house?

She was sitting down, and the neighbours were coming in,

and also people whom I didn't know were coming in.

And they all hugged her and they all cried,

and my grandfather just sat,

and I would go over and lean across his knees.

And I remember the tears dropping off his cheeks

onto the top of my head.

I couldn't understand what had happened.

The clock stopped

and the world changed.

The people of Lewis were grieving their loss,

but alongside grief came anger.

Why had the Iolaire foundered on the Beasts Of Holm?

Why had so many died within yards of the shore?

'John Macleod has examined the events of that tragic night.'

The boat was very under-crewed,

the officer had never sailed at night.

it was quite stormy.

They weren't familiar with the waters and they lost their way.

The Iolaire didn't have enough lifeboats for all the men. There weren't enough life jackets.

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

You would think that they were so close

that it ought have been possible to escape the tragedy.

You've these huge breakers hammering in,

so the men who'd jumped into the water were mostly beaten to death.

They wasn't drowned, they were smashed against the rocks time and time again,

like being caught in the most nightmarish washing machine.

The appalling deaths in the Iolaire disaster

happened just after the Great War ended,

a war that had already killed 866 men of Lewis.

A terrible sacrifice.

Of those who'd volunteered, one in six were dead.

But the needless loss of all those men aboard the Iolaire

was the cruellest blow,

and yet for many years, the response from Lewis was silence.

Because what could anyone say that mattered?

And that's why, beyond the islands,

the name Iolaire is essentially unknown,

because this was a very private tragedy.

Many would envy the sense of community on the Scottish Isles.

Language and traditions

bind people together,

but some of those traditional customs

may seem at odds with life elsewhere in our islands.

I've reached my final stop at the tip of the Hebrides, Port of Ness.

It looks like the end of the line,

but this little harbour is actually the point of departure

for a group of men who set sail every August.

It's a voyage the men of Ness have been undertaking for centuries,

sons following fathers who followed their fathers.

They've all been heading for the same spot,

a lonely rocky island, 40 miles from here, called Sula Sgeir.

Nobody lives there,

but it's home to thousands of gannets.

The men of Ness come to Sula Sgeir to hunt for birds.

It was a tradition captured on film in the 1950s. Take a look at this.

They're after the young gannets, known in these parts as guga.

The guga-hunting season is August,

when the chicks are almost fully grown.

There's no shortage of people to buy them.

Guga is an age-old delicacy in these parts.

50 years on, the small boy in the film is doing as his father did.

John MacFarlane is now the leader of the annual guga hunt,

a time-honoured custom first recorded in 1549.

It's a big thing in Ness, our community,

in this part of the island, up the Butt of Lewis end.

If you mention the community of Ness to someone,

it's always associated with the guga, with the guga hunt.

The Ness gannet.

It's... It's a Ness thing.

Once, the men of Ness could take as many guga as they could carry.

But now, they operate under a licence

to take no more than 2,000 birds a year.

What do you say to people

who find the idea of killing wild seabirds...

distasteful, abhorrent?

I don't see any difference between that

and going into a supermarket and buying a chicken or a turkey.

Those who oppose us going to the island,

if you could put a guga and a chicken together,

how could you explain to the chicken why it should be killed

and the wild guga go free?

There's no difference.

It's for human consumption.

Guga and guga hunting may not be to everyone's taste,

but the annual journey to Sula Sgeir

is a centuries-old tradition,

one fiercely defended by the men of Ness and their community.

The Outer Hebrides are famously wild, rugged and beautiful.

They share a quality that's far less conspicuous.

The people I've met have a real sense of community, of belonging.

A conviction that their island is truly their home.

And that, maybe, is what it means to be an islander.

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd