On my first visit to Tolsta in 2005 one of the first things to hit me was the smell of peat fires. Since then many people have ceased to cut peat, having opted for the simplicity of oil-fired heating in old age. They used to say one needed to cut a volume of peat equivalent to the room you wanted to heat for the year. Today with better insulation and heating system I manage with a fraction of that. It is however my only source of heat and serves for hot water and cooking. My electricity bill is a shocking £10/month, but for it to remain so low requires some seriously hard work that today few would be willing to do. The older local population hold nostalgic childhood memories of the peat cutting tradition, while the younger generation have other priorities. Children seem to be otherwise occupied, contented and connected within their hermetically sealed homes.
Every spring for the past twelve years I’ve been cutting peat above Garry beach on the Isle of Lewis. I had heard that it was hard work and although people would say its free fuel, the labour involved made it anything but free. The position of the peat banks I was allocated was idyllic, across the Garry bridge and down off the track at the first left hand bend it commanded a view out across the Minch. On clear days the mainland coast was visible from north of Ullapool to Cape Wrath, but I wasn’t here to stand staring at the view.
The old peat iron for my croft house was so worn out that it could only be considered a museum piece so that first year I had a go with a spade. The result was some peats but they did not come up to scratch as far as the locals were concerned, and so I was taken in hand and shown, where and how to cut with a tarasgeir. Calum Stealag Macleod, the celebrated Stornoway blacksmith made me an iron and told me how his father had made my old tarasgeir as well as the branding irons that had burnt in the 17NT and JML on the handle.
The following year I set to christening my new tarasgeir and
cut a full length of the bank. Restarting to cut a bank that has been left for
years is never simple since the face will have dried out and the heather will
have grown on top making the de-turfing an arduous task. I was pleased to have
some help that year from Mats, a friend from Sweden who continued to visit each
summer on his cycling tours of Scotland. Leaving his bike overwinter at No 15
he made New Tolsta his base until his sudden and untimely death last November.
This upliftingly active spring period has been tinged this year with the
sadness of not having his companionship.
There are machines that will cut peat, removing the top turf
and raising the subsequent layer of peat in convenient blocks, but this
requires level ground. My banks are on a south facing slope. I was unable to
cut last year having been stuck in Brittany during the period of covid
restrictions and was worried just how my old back would cope with the effort. A
few fine days at the end of March saw me make a start. I de-turfed a five meter
section and gave up. However, if I was to continue heating with peat it was
simply going to have to be a question of persistence.
Back on the banks during mid-April there were days of good
progress followed by days of pain and anti-inflammatory pills, but by limiting
myself to a maximum of 200 peats cut I found the rhythm of my old work pattern.
Luckily I have a habit of counting as I cut and the total soon approached a
thousand being by then half way down the bank. Working alone it is a process of
cutting twenty or thirty, then throwing them. Throwing is an art in itself, and
in the past, when I’ve had local help, I’ve marveled at the accuracy achieved
when hurling a weighty peat several meter to land perfectly alongside the
previous one. Today, alone I carry this process out in stages, finding an often
inelegant method to get them well away from the bank, then having to sort out
those that have overlapped so that crisping up of the topside can commence. The
top layer is not the best, being rather spongy and fibrous. They take longer to
dry and so it is as well that they come out first. The drying process relies not
only on the wind and lack of heavy rain, but also on the condition of the moor.
If the ground is wet then crisping up takes longer. I avoid at all cost
throwing onto sodden mossy ground. Despite getting the peat thrown out several
meters from the bank, both on the top and lower side, there is often an issue
with space, especially if cutting more than three deep and seven wide.
Thankfully this year in mid-April we had ideal conditions and so the setting up
could start and doing so space created for the final and best layer of peat. If
space becomes a problem I continue to cut, but create a wall of peat on the top
side. Here it will continue to dry although if left too long will tend to
stick. There are also areas that produce crumbly peat and can’t be cut with the
tarasgeir. In these circumstances its back to the spade to cut smaller chunks
which dry fast and tend to crack up and require bagging. Once dry nothing is
wasted and by the end of summer the banks should be left clear from even the
smallest pieces of dry peat.
Getting the dry peat back to the house is another operation
that is good to do as a team, but there have been years when I’ve bagged it all
up, wheeled it up to the track and loaded it into my car. Now if all has gone
according to plan and Murray has the tractor and trailer available in late
August then it’s time to ask neighbours if they can lend a hand. It’s a good
humoured time and a reminder of what communal working was like in bygone days.
For now though with the last layer cut and thrown everything is either crisping
up or set up. There’s a feeling of relief that the hardest of jobs is over for
another year.
