Finding a family

Beverley Mathias

One bright May morning over twenty years ago, I set out to find evidence of my ancestors. The Isle of Lewis was bleak and beautiful, the road long, winding and narrow as I drove my hired car out of Stornoway and across the island carefully watching out for, and observing, the passing places marked alongside the road. I had waited thirty-five years for this day, and now hoped I could find evidence of my family's life on this island. Passing flocks of black faced sheep, slowing down for them as they crossed the road, marvelling at the wonderful views of the sea and the moors I realised how much my great-grandfather must have missed his homeland. Eventually I reached the west side of the island, and Carloway, the village after which my great-grandfather had named his house in Australia. One street sweeping down the hill and over the water, then up the other side. Some houses either side, a road off to the right, and one to the left but no sign of a cemetery. Just back from the corner, behind the war memorial was a large Free Church, and beside it, facing the main road, was a school. It was the school in a photograph my mother had shown me of the opening of the Pentland Road. Nothing much had changed in the 80 years since then. Opposite the Free Church was a man mending a gate post. I parked the car and walked across.

"Excuse me can you please tell me where I will find the cemetery?" was my hesitant request. The man looked at me from under his cap, carefully laid the hammer on the ground beside him, leaned on the post and spoke "You will be Alick Mackenzie's granddaughter and you will be looking for Ranald's grave", he said in a soft Gaelic voice. I was stunned into silence for a few moments. How did he know who I was? Was it my Australian accent? Surely not, after all there must have been plenty of Antipodeans looking for their ancestors. ... (continues)