Stories that made the headlines
Off-beat contact with space travel The Gazette had an early and rather off-beat connection with space travel. One of the first attempts by German scientists to practical use took place at Scarp in July 1934.
A German inventor of the name of Zucker was trying to interest the British Post Office in the idea of delivering mails to remote islands by rocket.
He claimed that he could not only hit the target, but would deliver his payload so gently that a bottle of medicine would not break.
Zucker was financed by an adventurer of the name of Dombrowski, who hoped to recoup himself by the sale of rocket stamps affixed to the thousands of letters in the first container of mail ever sent by rocket.
The two Germans, their rocket, their launching gear, (crudely made of wood by a Harris joiner), a representative of the Post Office, and half a dozen journalists and photographers were ferried across to Scarp for the big occasion.
There was no jetty at Hushinish then, so one by one the visitors were carried out to the boat by Scarp fishermen, and dumped unceremoniously into the bilges like sacks of potatoes.
When the apparatus was mounted, the spectators retired to a discreet distance, and Zucker crouched down behind some boulders on the beach with his electric firing switch. There was a flash, a cloud of billowing smoke, and a shower of envelopes floating down on the beach like giant snowflakes or confetti. The rocket had exploded just as it took off.
The letters, most of them singed along the edges, were put in a sack and handed to the Post Office for delivery in the more prosaic but efficient way by little red van. Zucker broke down in tears, and the journalists retired to write up the comedy.
Charlie Barr, of the Daily Record, secured a magnificent photograph of the letters in mid-air as the rocket disintegrated.
There were very few people present a few days later when Zucker made another and partially successful firing at Amhuinnsuidhe and nothing more was heard of him until after the war when he had become one of Hitler's experts on the development of the flying bomb, but had quarrelled with the Fuhrer and had been liquidated.
Poltergeist in Tolsta Chaolais?
There are times when a journalist can see strange happenings without the aid of whisky.
One of the strangest ever recorded by the Gazette concerned the Tolsta poltergeist if poltergeist it was. It all began on a Sunday morning when Mrs Macleod was having a cup of tea with her grandchildren
Suddenly the caorans around the fire began to shoot around the room. One struck her in the face, another splashed into her cup of tea.
The globe of the lamp hanging from the ceiling crashed to the floor and when her grand-daughter went into the scullery with an armful of dishes pandemonium was let loose.
As soon as she opened the door a row of cups hanging by the lugs from nails dropped to the floor. Plates cracked right across.
A cake of soap was sliced as neatly as if by a knife and a toothbrush was snapped in two.
A jug of peasemeal flew from the scullery and crashed on the living room floor.
A jug of rice made a longer journey and landed safely on the bed. A teapot sailed right across the room and struck high against the wall, splattering tea leaves around. The only dishes that escaped were those the lassie was holding in her arms.
The young brother thought it was great fun. He sat on the floor shouting: "Seo fear eile."
Some of the villagers saw something supernatural in the occurrence, but Mrs Macleod, who was a woman of great character, decided that there was a rational explanation, even if she didn't know what it was, and she brushed the gossip aside.
One would like to write more of some of these old Lewis cailleachs, women of great sagacity, and infinite patience, brought up in a hard school, but quite contented with their lot.
The truth is, they seldom made the headlines, and that is where even a local newspaper, although it has a saner sense of values that the popular dailies, leaves great gaps in the picture of the community it seeks to mirror.
Plane crash in Harris - 10 dead
No-one could forget the devastating air tragedy in South Harris in 1990, when an RAF Shackleton plane crashed into a hill with the loss of all ten people aboard.
On 30 April, 1990, the island was stunned to hear that the Shackleton which had been flying round Harris all morning, had ploughed into Maodal, a hill near Northton.
The plane had been taking part in 'Exercise Brushfire' involving the use of unarmed dummy missiles, and at the time of the crash had resumed normal training, 60 miles away from the exercise area.
Villagers had noticed the low mist on the hill, and shortly before midday, when a loud bang and tremor rocked the sleepy township, locals feared the worst.
Malcolm Mackinnon of Northton, spoke of how he had been in a mobile grocery van when he hear a low flying aircraft.
He looked in the direction of the sound but because of the mist couldn't see anything.
A short time later he heard a bang and rumblings and knew the plane had crashed.
Immediately rescue services were scrambled to the scene, but on their arrival it soon became apparent that their efforts were to be futile, as the bodies of the crewmen were taken from the hill.
One local, overcome by the horror confronting him, described the whole scenario as 'horrible.'
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Friday 25 May 2012
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