Fondest memories of a legendary Highlander

Holiday brochures wax lyrical about locations and sunsets, but there is nothing to compete with first-hand memory. That is why I was so very delighted to discover that an anthology of the essays of Seton Gordon has been compiled.

Gordon was, one of those legendary Scotsmen of the last century, and, indeed, the century before, who wrote passionately about a Highlands and Hebrides of the mind and soul.

He died in 1977, but 10 years earlier I had the good fortune to be taken to visit him at his home at Duntulm, in the north of Skye, by his grandson.

It was an autumn day, and the old man took us for a walk in the hope of sighting a golden eagle. And sight one we did, circling high above us. It was a thrill I shall remember all my days, together with the memory of those shining clifftop summits facing across the Little Minch and Sound of Shiant towards the landmass of Harris and Lewis.

It had rained earlier, and the long grass on the cliff edge looked as if it was made of silk and decorated with tiny flowers, blue and pink and yellow, sparkling like gemstones in the afternoon sunshine.

Wearing a kilt and tweed jacket, and resembling a wise old owl, Gordon was almost a caricature Highlander in appearance. You sometimes still see them walking along a pavement in Inverness, but none share his unselfconscious style.

I remember thinking he must have been very old at the time, and, as if to confirm this, he showed me a stick he had been given by Queen Victoria at Balmoral. I

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• By : Roddy Martine
• In : Roddy Martine's World
• Issue : 25
• Page : 7
• Words : 803