IN PRAISE OF THE CROFTER'S COTTAGE.

I

 Even before my first voyage through the Outer Hebrides I was fascinated by the vernacular architecture of the black houses. My father made several trip over in later life, and I was particularly interested in his photos of derelict and decaying houses. Having wandered from Barra to the Butt of Lewis several time over the past fifteen years I’ve seen a few changes. In this respect the islands are no different to the mainland as new houses seem to sprout up like mushrooms overnight. I can well understand why people in the 1920’s and 30’s wanted to move out of the dark black houses and into the new Department of Agriculture designed crofters cottages. Sash windows in every room meant for the first time the interior could be light. However thinner walls, even when covered in V lining also meant a serious amount of peat or coal was required to heat the place. Today’s hermetically sealed, well insulated and triple glazed houses are a world away from that, but my preference is still for the traditional crofter cottage. My own cottage was stripped back to the bare bones before introducing insulation and damp course, but all the interior timber was kept and put back along with its charm. I have often heard it said that location is everything and certainly many of these cottages can boast a magnificent location.

Cottage on South Uist perched high with a view of Loch Boisdale.

Tin roofs are still a common feature on all the islands and the irrational romantic artist that I am will always be drawn to a colourful bit of rust. Many of the earlier stone built cottages were originally thatched in heather or straw, while some later houses were built entirely of corrugated iron with only the chimney being built of brick or block. Today that chimney might be the only thing remaining that indicates the site as being habited. Many of the black houses no longer had a central chimney, and a cast concrete or brick chimney was built at one end. Alternatively the interior was divided by a chimney wall and the smoky peat filled rooms became a thing of the past. 

  For a time during the mid-20^th century the domed Nissan hut was popular but few remain now. When I first stopped to sketch this Nissan hut on South Uist it was complete with windows and doors, but two years later the half round black tarred tin had flown leaving just the end gable and an outside toilet.

During the second half of the 20^th century the crofter’s cottages were upgraded to include a bathroom but many also suffered greatly when adapted and modernised. The most shocking of these so called improvements was the removal of the dormer windows, replacing them with a long box window or worse still raising the entire front creating a flat roof. This is simply not a good look from any angle. Those with double sashes on the ground floor often had the central division removed and metal framed replacement windows installed. Despite the net curtains flapping at the back window this lone cottage on the Isle of Eriskay was uninhabited. This fine example had a well-proportioned porch, a scullery extension at the rear and a useful shed on one gable end. Below were the roofless walls of black houses from a bygone age. The artist’s sense of beauty for the rustic thatch, rusting tin and lichen covered walls counts for little during the reality of harsh winter months and my romanticized visions are fit only for a framed image of times past. 

While visiting the old cemetery on Bernaray I continued my walk following a trail of mushrooms. Over the ridge I came across another abandoned house. What was once the front garden, was now full of stinging nettles beyond the pair of ball topped gate posts.  Although showing all the outward signs of a typical crofter’s cottage this house had four dormer windows. The porch had long since blown away which gave it a rather vacant look with just two windows on the ground floor. Circling my way around the back I discovered the kitchen window had blown in, and while the v-lining was collapsing all the furniture remained. I clambered in and made my way through into the dining room complete with gas light fittings and a large mahogany side board filling the back wall. Through in the hall a coat stand leaned at a precarious angle as the floor boards crumbled beneath it. In the parlour there was more light, on the wall a text declared “I will trust and not be afraid, God is my salvation”, and on the chair was a rather out of place grey telephone. Upstairs one bedroom was complete with chaise longe, while asleep on the bed in the second bedroom was the remains of the last occupant, a very dead and desiccated furless cat. This at one time had been a fine home.

 

 

These cottages, whether stone built, cast concrete or tin were constructed internally entirely of wood. The name Hepburn is written in chalk on the underside of each tread of the staircase in my cottage, and I’ve seen that same suppliers name in other houses on Lewis. 

When in 2022 my crofter’s cottage was unanimously voted BBC Scotland home of the year, I assumed that maybe now with the island council also agreeing that these old houses should be renovated that the demolition would stop. However, before the year was out one of the oldest cottages in my own village was demolished and consigned in its entirety to the dump. Built in 1909 the interior was crammed with all the old furniture, but this also suffered the same fate. Yes, without damp course or insulation, and having stood unoccupied for years the interior was a mess. Later wall paper hung from the ceilings and walls, and the v-lining bellied out from the internal walls. As with my own house the interior would have needed to be carefully removed while the ground floor was dug out and walls exposed for damp proofing and insulation. I managed to save some of the v-lining from the roof of this cottage before demolition, and was not surprised to discover that there was absolutely no wood worm in the entire house. The timber is fabulous being slow grown pine and far better than anything you could buy today. With a few of the boards I have started work on making a dolls croft house. It pleases me to think that there will at least be a little bit of life after death.

In recent years there has been a trend to paint the exterior of houses white. This has happened over the length and breadth of the UK, but particularly on the west coast. Down in Cornwall, charming little granite cottages are still being painted white. It has become a selling point and even I in my needlework images of sheep will include a white walled and red roofed cottage. When I first started the renovation of my crofter’s cottage it was suggested that if I painted it white it would be worth significantly more. It is often the first thing a new owner will do and there are several that seem to have run out of money being only half painted. A publicity photograph promoting the islands will always try and include a white painted cottage, so it didn’t surprise me when a photo of my own house as it is today, in its drab grey harling appeared in the local paper, described as the winning house before renovation. I will not be painting it, or the crofter's doll's house white.

GOODBYE TO LEZELE

 

It’s been over a year since I packed up the remaining furniture. The house has stood practically empty apart from a few pieces of Breton furniture, and during the summer months there had been a concerted effort on behalf of Sarah the estate agent to sell the place. That side of the story is way too long and boring to go into now, but suffice to say the entire property proved impossible to sell, due to one of the neighbours of an abandoned house refusing to sign and regularise the right of way to the entrance that I have used for the past thirty years. I have given instructions for it to go back on the market at a much reduced price.

  As I sit here in the dimly lit interior, the house already no longer feels like mine. What made this my home has already gone, but there is still enough left within the rooms I created to bring back memories, and I’m glad to say they are all good one. Here in the gloom of the great fireplace I have passed many an evening with friends. In earlier times the fire was open and the smoke rose up through the massive chimney, where in the spring the swallows would make there nests. Installing a wood burning stove created a vast increase in efficiency, but there is nothing like an open fire. One Christmas I spent five days without electricity and cooked here, just as they would have done in time past. Now, people, conversation, and laughter return to me. The granites that surround me have seen so much during the three centuries and this fireplace has remained the hub of the house. Little has changed apart from the subject under discussion.

In those early years both animals and people entered by the front door. The cattle turned to the left, and occupied approximately half of the ground floor. If you’ve ever spent time in a cow shed you can imagine the smell. Living under the same roof with large herbivores is not that bad and the added warmth they gave was extremely important. That close relationship between man and beast was very different to today, were a disconnection allows us to accept the most unthinkable cruelty without question. The family would have lived on the ground floor, sleeping in box beds and eating around one table placed in front of the only window. The first floor has extremely low ceiling and would have been reserved for storing the farm produce. There were at this point in time very few farm buildings, and many of these would have been simple wooden construction visible now only in old photographs. Thirty years ago, when I first arrived here there was no electricity and no water. There have been improvements, but for those who enjoy the supposed comforts of a modern house this must seem like a museum.

There is so much more than just a late 17th century farm house on offer. Adjoining is my studio and at the rear a large garden, which although now somewhat neglected had been very productive.. Running at right angles to the main house is a second house that I once ran as a gallery. The ensemble is for sale at 205,000 euros.

 I am not sad to be leaving. I’ve enjoyed my time here and know I will be passing it on to other, who will no doubt have very different ideas from my own as to how one lives within these walls. The house or rather houses still hold tremendous potential, but my time here is over. I’m sure there will remain traces of me here for decades to come, from walls that I’ve built to trees that I’ve planted. I like to think I made a difference, and that my time here had some value. Further afield there lies scattered my artworks and writing, some of which will no doubt outlive those who have known me. Without daubing it in paint, carving it into tree trunks or scratching it in stone I have left my mark. I WAS HERE, GOODBYE LEZELE.