Kyle of Lochalsh. A small town at the end of a railway line, and lying at the foot of the famous Skye bridge. The bridge is a modern feature, opened in 1995, linking the Isle of Skye to the mainland. But back in the day, it took a short ferry crossing. At the end of the line, and, for the purpose of this tale, the end of the year.
You may know its railway station, right on the pier from where ferries to Mallaig and Stornoway sailed, until the early 1970s. Two tracks on either side of the platform, and a siding or two for shunting engines or carriages. The platform ends on the quay from where the ferry would depart. And, one Hogmanay, a specially chartered vessel.
On the last day of the year, a special always comes down the line from Inverness, pulled by an ancient steam engine, over a century old. After the passengers disembark, around 4pm, the engine is shunted into the siding, allowing for the carriages to be moved round to the other side of the platform.
The old engine quietly sits in its siding, slowly cooling down from its exertions of 80 miles. The whistle blows at 6pm, normally the signal for the tearoom on the platform to close. However, on the last day of the year, it has a license to carry on serving beyond midnight. Never later than 1 am, though. The townspeople know that.
As the bells ring in the new year, drams are served with alacrity in the tearoom. Revellers spill out onto the platform, some glancing over at the old engine. Others walk to the end of the platform, to the quay. A vessel is moored alongside, facing north. Although the lamps on the quay are lit and shining brightly, its name cannot be made out. Unlike other vessels in the vicinity, it does not sound its horn when the midnight hour passes.
At one o’clock, the tearoom closes, and the merrymakers walk up to the main road to go to the hotel to continue their celebrations. The lights on the platform dim, seemingly turning a more yellowish hue. As if they are oil lamps. A clock appears from the shadows. And the red light from the railway signal now appears to shine from a semaphore arm, as yet signalling to stop. No departure permitted from Kyle of Lochalsh.
At half past one, the old engine starts to move in its siding, passing over the switch onto the mainline. The semaphore arm creaks and switches to the safe position, a green light now showing. Accelerating up the hill, the engine disappears under the road bridge, its noise coughing away into the distance. The down signal clanks back into the stop position.
Ten minutes to two. The up signal, behind the bridge, swings up and now shows a green light. A few minutes later, the steam engine can be heard approaching. At speed. High speed. Thundering down the incline, the locomotive is racing towards the station at an impossible 60 mph. And making no effort to stop. As it passes under the bridge, the engine starts to whistle, a high-pitched, continuous whistle. An agonised, painful, deafening screech as it thunders through the station. The clock shows five minutes to two.
Without stopping, the locomotive smashes through the buffer stop, its front light briefly, almost lightning like, illuminating the vessel at the quay. The name can be made out.
Iolaire.
The steam engine vanishes over the vessel, its whistle echoing round the village and the mountains on the far side of the Kyle, of the Narrows. The revellers in the hotel briefly fall silent when the noise penetrates their merriment.
It is said that the old steam engine pulled one of the trains that brought servicemen to Kyle of Lochalsh on New Year’s Eve 1918. The sailors were due to be brought home from Kyle to Lewis and Harris on board the Iolaire. War was over, and a new year beckoned, a new year of peace. But the Iolaire ran aground in poor weather just outside Stornoway at five minutes to two in the morning of 1st January 1919. More than two hundred of its passengers perished within sight of home. Lewis has never forgotten.