Perfect strangers!

You couldn’t possibly imagine how I spent my evening, so I’ll get right to the story. It’s actually amazing, providentially appointed I’d say.

I first visited the Skye Museum of Island Life. No wonder the Scots are such hearty stock! First off, the day was absolutely dreich. Wild winds brought in the driving rain and the idea of huddling next to peat fire until kingdom come actually sounded ideal. Of course, the museum isn’t a working model – figurines have been poised from the 1960s as blacksmiths, fishermen, etc – but the atmosphere was totally right. Life in a traditional island village was no picnic; crofters and fishermen have my total respect and admiration. This wee stop in Kilmuir is well worth an hour of any visitor’s time. Also of interest is the grave of Flora MacDonald, that feisty lassie responsible for saving Bonnie Prince Charlie from certain death after the defeat at Culloden. She’s a great role model for any young woman, but more on ideal role models later.

Due to the bus schedule, it made more sense for me to head towards Portree and then back to Uig. Let me just say, I am so thankful I decided to stay in fairly un-populated Uig rather than tourist-crowded Portree. Not that Portree is lacking - I had a very nice bread and soup at a local, uh, social establishment – but I’ve come to appreciate the vastness of the Highlands infinitely more in the back of beyond rather than in the middle of it all. Heading back into Uig, I happened to catch the school-bus home; because Skye is so spread-out, children ride on the Stagecoach rather than traditional buses. It was quite a little interesting piece of life that most tourists would miss, I think. Randomly, I sat next to this Australian chap who was catching the morning Ferry. The two hours back to Uig passed quickly and pleasantly, with conversation and views to keep me company. Here comes the promised story.

Tonight, I had every intention of attending the Church of Scotland’s evening service. To kill some time, I took my supper in The Ferry Inn which sounds rather romantic, like a line from The Highwayman, but when you’re all alone the romance quickly flees. As has been a running theme in this travel journal, ordering a “table for one” can be slightly depressing. Of course, my single table offered a great vantage point to spy on the whole restaurant. Like the far left table full of proper lads: each ordered a pint of Stella. Or the young couple trying to impress each other: both had expensive wines. The young family of four: sodas and juice. The slightly older family of three keeping up appearances: dad ordered a gin and tonic, mom downed a glass of port, and son ordered something fizzy. Even the elderly couple: both had quiet cups of tea. I took my coffee in the bar next door (I’m not an alcoholic!) and finished a very interesting memoir called The Kerracher Man.

The Church of Scotland, funny enough, is right opposite The Ferry Inn. As half-seven drew nearer and nearer, no sign of evening services had appeared. No beadle, no minster, no nothing! Then, three sweet women came ambling up to the door in their Wednesday-best. “O, hello dearie. Are you waiting for prayer meeting?” one with a very Lewis-accent asked.

“Well, yes, actually, I am.”

Long story short, in five-minuets time we introduced ourselves, discovered we were all on holiday, also discovered that prayer meeting was in the next town over, and decided to go for tea. Highlanders keep a slower pace of life, but they are always quick to form acquaintances. Knowing the generous nature of my hostess, I invited my three new friends “home” to the cottage. Growing up, I was always told to never get into the car with strangers, but I made an exception for the seemingly harmless evangelical seventy-something year old skirt-wearing Bible-toting women. If they were planning something dastardly, I deserved whatever was coming to me.

Rather than dragging me around the corner to an old abandoned warehouse, these three ladies sat with my hostess and myself for over an hour and took tea. We had such a lovely time! As I hinted before, Scotsmen are of the heartiest stock. What stories about cutting peat, sewing clothes, throwing weddings, and all sorts of daily-activities. Generations of traditions and history, all sitting in one living room. Unbelievable! Also amazing to me was the fact that, between the four of them, these women seemed to know everyone in the Highlands and Islands. Within mere moments they began name-dropping and place-naming. A handy skill, that one! But mostly, I was impressed with their dedication to the faith. Christians all their lives, the sweet travelers were genuinely upset to miss Wednesday prayer service, but kindly said that meeting me well made up for the loss. How sweet was that? You know, I think people who bridge the generation gap are truly special. We all have so much to give and share with each other.

At the end of our tea, we exchanged address and promised to keep in touch. You can be sure I will. The rare treat of finding solid friends, no matter their age, is not to be ignored or swept aside. I would write everything they taught me but, frankly, most of their lessons are going to be pondered in my heart. My hostess and I escorted the women back to their car and waved them off.

When I’m seventy-eight, I hope to be waved off as I drive away by a twenty-something myself. Then again, by that time we might live on the moon but, who cares? Days like today give me hope for the world, a hope that only comes from the LORD.