The sun shone wanly through the gathering clouds. In the distance, the windmills turned steadily over the four hills. Turning round, a clutter of buildings could be seen lower down, by a narrow roadway. If you didn't know, you could easily overlook the oversized and over ornate mansion whose towers and turrets just about peaked through the trees. But that was not in the sphere of interest. Neither were the blocky outlines of the quarry, which loomed in the opposite direction. Rows of houses marched along the valley in the middle distance, and the sea twinkled away to the north and east. A more distant hill could be discerned on the horizon. Where was she?
Only the outlines of the hills remained. The buildings were but a memory of the future, as were the trees. A barren moorland landscape stretched as far as the eye could see, fringed by the mournful outline of the sea. No path now, on the hilltop. Snow dusted the mountain tops in the far distance, as the sun westered towards setting. Where was she?
In cold despair, the stream babbled down the incline through the trees. A wheel turned by the force of water, in turn fed by distant rains. People stood around, waiting for their grain to be milled, but the water would not wait. In blind anguish, it cascaded under the bridge and into the sea. It fed the falling tide as darkness fell. Where was she?
The winds howled as the year turned. The pitch darkness was only intermittently lit up by a turning light, too far away to illuminate. Too far away to guide. A ship on rocks, those on board struggling to make shore, but so many did not. Where was she?
The radio churned out its customary New Year's diet of hyped-up jolliness as the car made its way out of town. At the Blackwater Bridge, a man stood, head bowed, in a great coat with a case at his feet. The driver pulled over."Want a lift?" The man stepped inside, smelling of wet garments. Not just wet garments. Something of the sea as well. The lights of Newmarket were left behind, and the car sped into the darkness of the moor in the centre of the island. The illuminated outline of the War Memorial stood on a hilltop behind, but was not noticed. The driver did not feel compelled to speak to his passenger. Upon reaching the village of Barvas, he did say he wanted off at the Inn. The man got out, thanked the driver, and walked in the direction of the West Side road. Under the streetlamp at the junction, he could be seen meeting and embracing the form of a woman. The passenger seat in the car was wet, and fronds of seaweed lay in the footwell. When the driver pulled away, nobody was visible anywhere in the vicinity. Darkness lay along the West Side road.
It was later said that each New Year, one of the men from the Iolaire would appear outside Stornoway and be given a lift across the Barvas Moor. Upon arriving on the other side, he would meet up with a female; a relative or lover or neighbour, was not known. They would disappear together shortly afterwards, and not be seen again.