Mair Travelogue (and mair B&W)

The third and final day holed up. To give the day a bit of shape, I voted for a short trip along to Holm where the Iolaire came to grief early on New Years Day in 1919 with the loss of 205 lives, mostly soldiers returning home after WW1.
We took the local bus and asked to be let out at the Sandwick road end to walk the mile down to Holm. Turns out that the bus driver's Grandad, Alexander Campbell, was one of those who died; like many, his body was never found. The weather really came in when we got down there, but I took a few snaps of the rocks which uncover at low tide, and which are hardly outside Stornoway harbour and only 100 yards offshore. It must have been a foul night. A pensive walk back to the main road.

After that, the weather lightened and I had a bit of time to poke round the town; coffee and cake with newspapers at the arty place, a walk round by Lews Castle, and a teatime pint in McNeill's. That reminds me of the cracker that Donald came out with yesterday. He was a fireman, and had taken a bit of a scunner at the way that the fire service had gone, which had driven him to take early retirement. Fire prevention has ruined the job, he told us, with a straight face. Ha ha, I bet it has. Hardly any big fires and getting the hoses out. Rubbish!