The Kirk or Church of Scotland played a large role in our forebears’ lives. Ministers had a great influence on Scottish society. As lettered men, the government leaned on them to produce reports on geography, topography, agriculture, industry, and the resident population. The 1834-1845 report for Kilcalmonell and Kilberry Parish was written by none other than our venerable Reverend John McArthur. He speaks of a failing economy, outdated agricultural practices, and overcrowded farms.
Crofters were impoverished. They paid as much as half of their revenue toward rent. Due to lack of income, tenants resorted to bootlegging (phrased as “distillation and the evil practices therewith connected”). Reverend McArthur wrote, “The peasantry endeavour to better their condition by having recourse to smuggling. It is impossible to calculate the amount of evil that this unholy and unpatriotic practice is the cause of.”[1] The Campbeltown Antiquarian Society Library holds documents to show the minister was not exaggerating.
The Library's documents show that, in just two years (1797-99), the government seized 292 stills and prosecuted 359 people for the distillation of alcohol. One of the largest stills (18 gallons), was seized just south of the village of Clachan.[2] Poverty and drinking were not unique to Kintyre, for they were the cause of major social issues on nearby Islay, which the government and the Kirk struggled to deal with. It is interesting to consider whether or not the Darroch family was caught up in this.
There is reason to think the Darrochs rose above it. The minister put Archie in a position of responsibility as a precentor in the church and was expected to set an example of sobriety. Years later, John raised his own family in Erin, Ontario, where "there were about a dozen taverns and he did not want his children to be influenced by them."[3] If John had cultivated those sensitivities as a youth, he may have despised this unsavory environment. It may even have influenced his decision to leave Clachan.
So, with the economy tanking, agriculture being stalled, and the social fabric in tatters, young John Darroch was in a quandary. The teens and early twenties is a time filled with life-shaping decisions. John was anything but passive in his approach to life. How did he make these far-reaching resolves? Did he find a quiet moment to consider his future path and place in the world? If so, Dunskeig Hill would have been an ideal place to ponder his options, as imagined in the following vignette.
John didn’t argue with his dad often, but when he did it was about vocation. Frustrated with his Dad’s stubbornness and lack of foresight, John headed for the hill. He had often come here as a child with his folks, then as a youth with his chums, and lately, by himself. His pace slowed as his senses took in the sights and sounds of nature. Sheep grazed passively on the surrounding hills. The smell of heather wafted on the breeze. The scene was so tranquil that he imagined ancestors in days gone by, climbing this hill for solace when they needed it.
Reaching the top of the hill, John sat on the wall of the old stone fort and rested his chin in his hands. Dunskeig had watched over the people like a sentinel for centuries. The stone fort could offer no protection, however, over today’s enemies, for they were not marauders in boats but changing times and a fickle economy.
John stood up and walked to the edge of the precipitous drop. He stared across the strait to Gigha, the Isle of Islay, and Jura, which was the traditional seat of the Darroch clan. His eyes moved to the water five hundred feet below. He stood for a few moments transfixed. Turning his back to the water, his gaze swept the countryside. The sun was low in the sky. Below, he could see the lengthening shadows of Clachan and Dunskeig Farm. He buttoned his coat against the chilling winds rushing up from the Atlantic. He reflected that, in some ways, nothing had changed in the last two hundred years.
Nothing had changed, but everything. Times were hard. Crop failures had disrupted farmers' livelihoods and threatened life itself. Mechanization had intruded into the weaving and milling trades. The economy was in decline, as were the moral standards of his community. Is this where he belonged? John looked up at the sky as if to ask, "What shall I do? Shall I stay and work for a better life here? Or shall I leave and start a new life for myself?"
Slowly, quietly, the answer welled up within him. He knew what he should do. His mind was clear and his heart was calm. Surely that indicated a correct decision.
John stood and started down the hill. As he walked, his thoughts turned to how he might assert himself to his father. That might go poorly! The sun had set and darkness gathered, reflecting John's concern of how his dad would react. An hour later, he could see their small stone house and, through the window, the dim glow of a lamp. He approached the window and peeked in. Mother was quietly penning another letter to Grandma Milloy. Father was finishing a riding blanket he had been contracted to make.
John opened the door and walked in. “Dad, I have something to say to you.”
Mary put down her pen and held her breath. John stood a little taller as he prepared to deliver his next statement--no build-up, just short and to the point--as he had rehearsed it on the way down the hill.
"I am going to apprentice in blacksmithing.”
The shuttlecock stopped, the loom went silent, and Archie slowly looked up. “And I have something to say to you.”
Archie stood up. “It made me mad to think you would walk away from your heritage. And madder yet to think you’d leave us while times are tough.”
Archie walked closer. John’s body stiffened. Mary gasped and clasped her hand to her mouth.
“But then I realized—I’m not mad. I’m sad. I don't want to see you go."
Archie clasped John's shoulders and then embraced him. His eyes stung with tears.
His head on Archie's shoulder, John said, “Forgive me for not carrying on the tradition of weaving."
Archie said, "You don’t need my forgiveness, I need yours. And you have my blessing as ye make your own way.”
“I was born here, and here is where I will live out my days,” Archie said. “But you? You go. And wherever you go, remember the tradition of the stone—remember your ancestors. You go…and we will stay.”
Mary, listening, wept.
References:
[1] “Parish report for Kilcalmonell and Kilberry, County of Argyll” (1834-45). The New Statistical Account of Scotland. Edinburgh: W. Blackwood and Sons, 1845, volume 7, 410. http://stat- acc-scot.edina.ac.uk/link/1834-45/ (accessed July 13, 2010). [2] http://www.ralstongenealogy.com/number37kintmag.htm
[3] Frank Darroch, A Darroch Family in Scotland and in Canada, (1974), 78.