Lovely news from Sue.
“…when the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.” J.M. Barrie.
Imogen Lucie, which means means ‘maiden of light’, is my youngest granddaughter. She was born this morning into a small world of love. And she is beautiful.
My love and congratulations to her parents, Alex and Laura and her big sister, Hollie.
xxx
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The Open University (OU) is a wonderful institution. I have watched its progress for decades, and it’s a fine example of the power of education and broadcasting, combined. Last night we happened to watch a BBC Two documentary produced as part of the OU series: ‘Secrets of Silicon Valley‘ by Jonathan Bartlett.
Its premise was that Silicon Valley (referred to as the Tech world) has a dark side; dark in the sense that it is changing society at such a fast rate that our social, political and legal structures are failing to keep up. The Tech companies view this as a good thing, and there is the collective vision – incredibly well-funded in its PR – that this is productive for us all and that the inevitable result, like the industrial revolution before it, will be that we’ll all have richer and better lives. TheTech define their own role in this vision as that of ‘The Disruptor’.
Anyone remember the ‘Tomorrow’s World’ type programs of the 60s and 70s? They were great television and offered a bright and optimistic vision of how technology was a boon and would result in a world where our biggest problem would be how to spend our free time.
You’ll forgive the sound of hysterical laughter from here…
How naive that now seems, and how predictable the good and the bad we have inherited from that curve of post industrialisation. The underlying problem, of course, is a combination of politics and human nature. Whatever mankind does seems to reflect the collective psyche of our humanity. Wonderful things happen, as do very bad things.
Those of us who have ridden the wave of Tech for the past forty years, especially those like me whose living it has been, have done very well out of it. I’m typing this blog on a device that is a phone, camera, office and international information retrieval system. As a young boy, fascinated by ‘devices’, I couldn’t have predicted that in a million years. I remember a Superman comic where the baddie was allowed his own personal computer in his prison, and I wondered then if such a thing would ever happen in my life. It seemed unlikely…
Tech is now at the heart of all large-scale human processes. It has made wonderful things safer, faster and more accurate, and the incredible scale of that success is its own problem, because the huge money to be made from a globally successful Tech product or service now requires that it challenges what is normal within society.
One of the examples given by the BBC programme was that of the virtual taxi company, Uber. Uber don’t have any taxis, but they licence those drivers with the right quality of vehicle to operate as Uber drivers. The heart of the Uber system is a very neat graphical display running on your phone. When you call for a taxi using Uber, the display shows you on a real-time map where your taxi is. You can actually see it coming down the virtual street as it comes down the real street to pick you up. The taxi chosen by Uber is the one nearest to you, so the service is good. All in all, it’s a major advance on how taxis used to be.
So what’s challenging about this great concept? The BBC programme highlighted Uber’s setting up in India. In order to get ‘its’ drivers to have the right cars, it advertised how much they would be earning per month, once they signed up to be Uber drivers – on a self-employed basis, of course. Uber also offered to help with loans for the new cars. The new vehicles were ordered, and their drivers, with proud families watching, set off in their fine newly-financed cars, carefully chipped by Uber for their location services tracking. What happened next was what always happens in a market with high demand that attracts those willing to provide it: So many drivers signed up that the earnings for months two, three and four dropped dramatically, so much so that a few months on, the drivers were on a small fraction of the ‘expected earnings’ and were unable to keep up the payments on their cars, let alone feed their families. Uber’s revenue was not affected by this.
Uber does offer a great product. They aren’t doing anything illegal, or deliberately uncaring; but, in the case of the example in the programme, the secondary effects on the people in the market they are aggressively targeting are suffering. Typically, the Tech companies are not too concerned about this. They view that pushing the social and legal acceptability is a necessary part of being a Disruptor. That may well be true, but there has been no debate on the matter – just the forging ahead of a global product that they hope will sweep aside any social issues – forcing society to come to terms with a new ‘norm’ faster than it can be challenged on the grounds of ‘people factors’.
Uber was recently challenged in the UK courts, which ruled that the company could not claim that its drivers were working for themselves, and that they had to provide a full employment contract. We can imagine that this is not at all what Uber’s business model is based on… They are challenging the ruling. The second hearing is set for September.
To be concerned about this, we have to care about ‘people’. The kind of old-fashioned attitude that Tech hopes you’ll view as outdated and irrelevant to these elegant solutions; solutions that are changing our world faster than we can comprehend – or control. No-one’s saying that companies like Uber don’t care. Its just that they are pushing the ‘envelope’ of what society is for, and expecting they can change it so fast that any other considerations become irrelevant. Disruptors are clever, rich and very focussed on what works.
We can’t control them, because, for the first time in our evolutionary history, the very essence of ‘we’ is being challenged… So, within this larger Tech world, of which Uber is just one example, what value do we put on the human?
To be continued in Part Two
Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit organisation that helps people find the reality and essence of their existence.
His personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com
©️Stephen Tanham
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Beautiful sentiments and photos from Sue.
Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire!
Would not we shatter it to bits – and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!
– Omar Khayyam
“I wish….” How many times have I heard that phrase? How many times have I said it, with irony or with longing… or both… wishing that the world was somehow different? Wishing it would shape itself more conveniently… just for me? From that big win on the lottery we do not play to the weather over which we have no control, wishing things would change seems to be part of the human outlook.
There are many who make that wish and revisit it wistfully from time to time, still hoping vaguely that things might change, but doing little or nothing to make it come to pass except relying on life to…
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There are two schools of thought on what to wear on a cycling summer day in which there is the possibility of a downpour, far from home…
The first (Plan A) says you should put up with the weight and pack a good set of waterproofs. Then, as soon as the heavens open, stop cycling and put them on. The second (Plan B) says that, as long as the underlying temperature is warm-ish, there’s only so wet you can get, and you’ll soon dry, so why bother…?
Which was why, at about three in the afternoon of our cycling day on Tiree, and as a proponent of Plan B, I was standing alongside my bike, skin and metal drenched, looking back down the climbing valley road at the other man in our party (a follower of Plan A) who was doing some sort of dance with what appeared to be a bright red ghost…
But, I digress…
The lone cow on the rocky outcrop as we were pedalling away from Hynish should have warned us. Still feeling euphoric from the previous two hours, I had dismissed the ‘You’ll be sorrrry’ cartoon that sprang to mind, Warner Brothers style, from my subconscious. Failing that, the vertical orientation of the seagull’s body in the photo above should have shouted a hint, but no… what looks obvious in hindsight, in the photos, was less so on the day.
So we pedalled on, and now, looking at the shots, I can see the blue sky ahead that we embraced and the darkening silver behind, that we ignored. The deluge wasn’t instant; those dark clouds took a while to arrive, while we cycled into the seeming blue. At least wary of the weather, we had a further destination in mind: Soroby. This hamlet is the site of a graveyard of considerable interest because it links the pilgrim island of Iona with Tiree.
Much of the graveyard is relatively modern, and many of the (well-tended) graves mark the tragic loss of life of a merchant ship in World War II. Many of the bodies were washed up on the beaches of Tiree and their identities never discovered. The beautiful epithet ‘Known to God’ marks their anonymous sacrifice.
But, a smaller and older part of the graveyard is believed to be the site of a monastery established by St Columba as an extension of the work of his first church on Iona, following his self-imposed exile from Ireland, where it is said he led a rebellion and started a war which resulted in ten thousand deaths. This was prior to his conversion to Christianity, which he then vowed to spread across the seas to Scotland. This man, loved and feared in equal measure it is said, also established a monastery on Tiree for ‘wayward monks’. If you’ll forgive the humour, it appears to have been a kind of early ‘Craggy Island’ as in the Father Ted series… This was known as Baithene’s Monastery, and was founded in 565 AD.
The ruins of that original monastery have never been found, though it is known that a church stood here from the 13th to the 19th centuries. However, one very important artefact remains: a double-faced stone cross from that early period of religious life on Tiree. It is known, now, as McLean’s cross, after the clan which ruled Tiree from 1390 to 1680, it is linked to the life of Anna McLean, who was the prioress of Iona from 1509 – 1543.
The cross has two sides: the first, with its raised boss at the centre of a ‘cross and spiral’ design, is Celtic. The reverse is in the form of a Latin Cross. It suggest an ancient piece, created when Christianity was well established, yet still in touch with its Celtic roots in these parts. One of the locals suggested it was 8th century, but we had no way of verifying this, and I can find no other reference to it.
Another artefact once shared this site: the cross of Anna McLean, herself, stood here (illustration above). On it , she is shown ‘disembowelling death’; an action that merits scholarly and philosophical attention. Only the shaft of the cross is recorded, and the original was removed from the island long ago. The inscription reads ‘This is the cross of Michael, Archangel of God. Anna, Prioress of Iona‘. I would imagine no-one knows the full story of how she came to be interred on Tiree, possibly her original family home. She must have been quite a woman…
Quietly, and deep in thought, we left Soroby, intending to double-back on ourselves a short distance and take the direct road over the spine of the island and to Tiree’s north coast.
We had cycled away from the wonderful village of Hynish knowing that the best part of the day was likely over. The sheer mental adventure of discovering the story of the Shore Station and the Skerryvore Lighthouse had provided a kind of peace; a sense of a day well spent; and yet we were only a quarter of the way around the island of Tiree.
And then the dark clouds behind us caught up with the broken blue sky in front and the deluge hit. With a hissing of dark, low clouds, the threatened storm began. The rain was so intense that we abandoned any thought of climbing the hill towards the north coast. Instead, we fled back to the only point of refuge we knew – our morning cafe at Balemartine – and ran from the front car park into its inviting interior.
Henrietta had more sense than to be waiting for us, this time, and the staff of the Balemartine Cafe laughed in warm mirth as four wet cyclists abandoned their machines near the door and fled into the cafe’s warm interior.
“It can be verra unpredictable, the weather here,” said the lady owner of the cafe, studying our dripping state and clearly happy that the formal restaurant section was now full of decently-dressed weekend diners. She coughed gently and pointed to the coffee lounge where we had taken our late breakfast. “Will your usual table suffice?”
It did… and the humour helped; assisted by tea and cake, twice, as the building seemed to shake under the wrath of the storm god. You can feel very vulnerable in situations like this, when you’re thinly dressed, far from home, and more than slightly concerned whether the small plane from Glasgow could even get through the teeth of a highland storm like this…
And the figure jumping up and down in the red rain-suit. it was Paul, of course – the other husband in the party. After another hour in the cafe we felt duty bound to try again, despite the rain. Halfway up the road to the north coast, we abandoned any attempt at further travel. We were strung out in a line on the saturated hill. The ladies were a few hundred metres ahead of me. As group leader, and the most experienced cyclist, I was keeping a watchful eye on Paul, fighting a red ghost in the driving rain and not having the heart to tell him that the ladies had written the day off and decided we all needed to get back to the airport where we would at least be warm and, eventually, dry again.
It took us about thirty minutes to get back to Tiree Airport. We did, eventually dry off and get warm again. The plane, did get through. We did get back to Glasgow. None of the bad weather mattered, we had a wonderful day full of adventure.
It’s our turn to assemble on of these, next year. I’ll keep you posted…
Thank you, Tiree.
©Stephen Tanham
Previous posts in this series:
Steve Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye school of Consciousness. His personal blog is at stevetanham.wordpress.com
©Copyright Stephen Tanham, text and pictures. Re-use with permission.
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*
Had there been any doubt about where we were going next…
Which there wasn’t.
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For once, our destination proved quite easy to get to.
A car park was suggested by the guidebook and in the car park were easy to follow directions.
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Not too far away to be too uncomfortable.
But just far enough away to deter commercialisation.
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These are all metaphors.
And the metaphors continued at the mouth of the cave.
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Whose approach to the interior provided an effective deterrent against the casual tourist.
But not to us because we are not.
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The thing about caves…
You never want them to end…
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But they always do.
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Which is why we deal in metaphysics.
The way beyond the end of the earth is Geometry.
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Which does not so much measure the earth.
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Rings of Oak
Along my walk there is an oak
Grown sturdy on the edge of winds
Life’s hardships fought and won
Whose sole and noble bearing
Engenders shared sojourn
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Its ridge it strides alone
And I, in passing, catch its thought
Like a point on a seen, sawn, levelled trunk
Though yearly ring is far too long
For these few moments shared
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But not this time, this round, this heart
Green canopy hiss: share this with me
Here, now, brief, unwitnessed
And be with ancient one in present time
Whose walk is only sidewards growth
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Upon my eyes and mind
This rustling note is written, sung
Upon his rings of time he adds
A passing molecule of now, a mote
Upon the meadow there is only silence
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Enjoy your walk around my Earth, he says
‘Around’ arrests: his sly intent, and turning
Gaze deep at wooden ark, as no voice, teasing
Says: and I, content to wait your arc’s return
Will travel further round the Sun
△
©Stephen Tanham
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When we had finished looking at the Saxon crosses and the yew trees, we headed into the little Church of the Holy Cross. Even the doorway looked promising, especially as the porch was home to a nest of swallows, darting in and out to feed their young. Even after all this time and the number of ancient churches we have visited, there is still a thrill when you put your hand to the handle. Will it be open or locked? And if it yields to our touch, what will you find? Simplicity or ostentation? There is always history, but sometimes it is just interesting… sometimes it is spectacular. It does not seem to bear any relation to the size of the church, but the older its origins, the more disappointed you are when the past has been erased. Either way, you never know until the door opens.
In this case…
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We had almost stopped there on our way to Wales. The suggestion had been made, but for some reason I had been reluctant to turn aside from our road west, for what might be no more than a walk in the woods. Not that we ever expected it to be that simple, but the mind goes its own way when looking for excuses. Especially when the inner voice is silently and inexplicably putting its foot down.
Consciousness dons blinkers, failing to see things that should be obvious, but which cannot become clear until the story has unravelled. It was as if some guiding spark of intent was aware of a chain of events spanning time, a sequence that had already begun, but had not yet reached a point where we could be allowed to see. And if that sounds confusing to read, imagine what it feels like to be caught…
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Something had happened when we decided to approach the strange village by walking along the beach and coming to it via the old but grand harbour, with its mighty blocks and sea-gates. It was only later that we realised that what we had, inadvertently, photographed in the far distance was the focus of the whole story.
You could relate it to one of my favourite Gurdjieffian pastimes: stopping the world. This technique requires a degree of stealth and an ability not to be embarrassed by the unusual – and your part in it! Stuart and I once caused such a moment of presence by each turning around from our table (shared with a very amused Sue) in a cafe and facing the opposite way (outwards). We were not trying to be irritating, just to do something unusual. The people we were sharing the cafe with took it in good part and assumed we were doing something humorous, possibly for a bet.
On that day we had stopped after a few seconds; we had no desire to prolong it, simply to create the experience, good-naturedly, as an extension of the serious conversation we were having.
There is something about the silence generated that tells you you've got it right. It doesn't have to be in public, but there's something about that arena that generates a feeling that something else is watching…
As we walked – the wrong way – through the harbour gates and into the strange village of Hynish, I had that same feeling…
The name 'Stevenson' was on a plaque by the harbour wall. It rang a bell. I remembered a Robert Louis Stevenson as the author of Treasure Island and Kidnapped; and had the idea that he might also have written The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde; but I didn't think he built harbours…
What I didn't know was that the name Stevenson was that of a family of gifted and determined eighteenth century Scottish engineers, and that the uncle of Robert Louis Stevenson the author was a man named Alan Stevenson, and that what he and his father – Robert Stevenson – accomplished was the reason for the strange village of other-worldly buildings on this remote corner of the Scottish island of Tiree.
The view from the harbour was of a set of what looked like cottages, with a tower to their left.
The tower was related to that view out to sea; the cottages were the modern home of the Skerryvore Lighthouse Museum, which had been established by the Hebridean Trust and lovingly restored and re-established over the past ten years to protect a vital piece of Scotland's history.
To understand the importance of Hynish and Tiree to Scotland's past you need to understand the way Glasgow developed in the 18th century. From a purely personal perspective, Glasgow has always been my favourite city, north of the border, because I have family there and it was the scene of many happy holidays in my teens – one of them involving my first long motorbike ride (in the pouring rain!). To find, all those years later, that Glasgow's early success as an international city had justified what happened at Hynish was a thrilling discovery.
Following the Act of Union in 1707, Scotland was free to trade, on equal terms with England, with the New World. Lucrative cargos of rice, tobacco, cotton, sugar and rum could now be imported to the Union via the deep estuary of the River Clyde. James Watt's 1760s invention of the steam engine also made Glasgow the most important exporter of manufactured good to the colonies. However, Between 1790 and 1844 more than thirty ships were known to have been wrecked in the area off the western edge of the inner Hebrides, as they fought the seas to enter and leave the Clyde.
In 1814 an Act of Parliament was established to survey and fund the construction of an offshore lighthouse on the obstructing and deadly skerry.
The Skerryvore rocks, located just off the bottom left edge of the map, above, were ten miles west of Hynish and the father and son team appointed to survey, design and build this enormous undertaking was Robert and Alan Stevenson. Work began on the construction of the lighthouse in 1738.
Our cycle ride had stumbled on the Shore Station that was built to support the construction of the Skerryvore Lighthouse – ten miles offshore. Later, a more makeshift station on the Skerryvore rocks, themselves, was constructed. As an indication of the severity of the weather, the latter, comprising a three storey structure for supplies, managers and thirty workers, was completely destroyed by a storm in November 1838. It was redesigned and built again in time for the following spring – the workers having agreed to stay and work on the rock through the winter!
The most complex part of the lighthouse was its clockwork revolving light, which, incredibly, amplified the wicks of only four oil 'lamps' and projected them across the deadly darkness. The key to this optical power was the use of the latest Fresnel multi-part lenses, which Alan Stevenson commissioned from the French Fresnel brothers in 1840. The eight lenses were (and are) only the size of dinner plates, but could project a bright beam over thirty miles!
The lighthouse went operational in 1844 and the Shore Station was converted for use as living quarters for the shift of lighthouse keepers and their families.
Today the lighthouse is automatic, and it is controlled remotely from Edinburgh. The entire structure of Stevenson's design has remained in near-continuous operation since its commissioning.
Without the museum you would never know that the line of waves breaking far offshore, marks one of the world's engineering marvels, nor the reason for the existence of this strange and haunting place where so much happened, but which is no so quiet…
Despite the weather, our day had brightened. We wondered if we dared hope for a continuation of our good fortune?
To be continued..
An aside…
I was very moved by our visit to Skerryvore and wrote a poem for my personal blog Sun in Gemini. It is reproduced, here.
The Skerryvore Light
In tiny Hynish's western shore
Where gentle waves now kiss the sand
The resting seas recall the names
Of they who built the Skerryvore
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Forgotten in the passing nights
Unknown to most, of even few
Who chance on Hebridean soil
And stumble on the wreck of lights
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For ears a story here in stone
Which value engineers of night
Of iron and glass and fearsome seas
That rivals any ancient tome
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Not shifting sands or limestone frieze
No Pharaoh wise, nor Mayan king
Have ever dared to light the night
With giant tower upon the seas
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In deep of howling winter's night
I'll sit upon my writer's keys
And 'Stevenson' will be the word
The image: glass infused with light
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So come from history, taking bow
From we who sail on greatness past
We bow to you, who built our age
Forgotten on the quiet sands of now
➰
©Stephen Tanham
Previous posts in this series:
Steve Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye school of Consciousness. His personal blog is at stevetanham.wordpress.com
©Copyright Stephen Tanham, text and pictures. Re-use with permission.
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