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I’ve visited
this place many a time and sat and looked and thought and I’ve written
a legend. A new legend if that isn’t a contradiction in terms and
here it is.
The
Legend of Blackrock
Many years ago before humans had written
words
To record the happenings of their world.
So long ago there are too many generations to count
Between the story teller then and this storyteller now
To count with any sense at all.
There lived a man, my children, and the
remarkable thing is
My dears that he is your grandfather so many grands back
It would take a week just to say them all, but he told his children
And his told theirs and so on down the years
Until now I tell you so the story won’t die.
On the west coast of Scotland if you
stand on Kintyre
And look across the grey sea on a clear day
There are green islands to look on
And the queen of these islands is Islay
Lush and fertile and warmed by the ocean.
Men desired her and even before this
story
People had lived, hunted, fished, farmed and fought
For a long, long time.
And the land was good to them, feeding and nurturing
And sheltering them from the Atlantic storms.
And to this land there came one day a
dragon, black and fell she had three names:
The name that people called her which was “Horror”
The name that God called her that was “Balance”
And the name she called herself in her heart
Which only she knows and doesn’t tell.
The sea was rich in fish and the land
was rich with deer
The loch water was clean and cold for her to drink
And once men had learned to farm instead of hunt
There were sheep and cows and pigs
To fill her hunger.
Far west and north at Bolsa
are deep caves with
Sound dry roofs and soft sandy floors.
They look west across the ocean in all its moods
And here in the cave we now call Uamh an Dà Dhoruis
She made her home and slept.
And as a thousand years went past
She flew and raided down the shores and hills
Of Islay, Jura, Colonsay and mainland
To the despair of farmers and desire of hunters
But a Law only to herself.
And in that time there were many eggs
And even now in quiet ancient corners of the world
Her grandchildren hunt and live
Well away from the eyes of modern man too far away now from the land
To be trusted with the knowledge of Dragons.
At last after a thousand years even a
dragon grows weary
And for her the joy went out of the hunt and flying was a weary effort
And greedy, stupid men would pester in her cave for non-existent gold
Believing legends rather than truth.
They didn’t even taste good.
She sought a place to sleep, to rest
her wings
And cool the hot fires in her belly.
At the top of Lochindaal she found a place
The water shallow and cooled by a fine river
And sheltered by large rocks from the storms.
A place now called Carraig Dhubh
She laid herself down
And let the cool water soothe the heat in her belly.
As the soft sound of the waves and skylark
Quietened her mind, she drifted off to sleep
And there she is still with only her
mighty back visible to view –
in English called Blackrock. Over so long a time weather and lichens
wore away at the familiar and terrifying shape
And now the children bathe there aware of only
The unusual warmth of the water.
And the wonderful rocks for scrambling
over.
But below the water she only sleeps.
Dreaming dreams of deer and sheep
Of flying high over Beinn Bheigier And Loch Gorm
And one day, rested she will waken and be back!
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