The Quest For Perfection (Is A Damn Fine Thing)

Part II: The World Beyond The Water - Chapter 11

II

The World Beyond The Water

Extract from The Hebridean Gazette, January 8th 2005

ABANDONED SCOTTISH ISLAND BOUGHT

It was today announced that the Scottish Island St. Kilda, which has lay abandoned since 1930, has been acquired by Harold Wells, CEO of The Wells Foundation.

According to the National Trust website, the island was evacuated on 29 August 1930, after a series of events led self-sufficiency on the island nigh on impossible. 1912 saw the island inhabitants experience food shortages with 1913 bringing an outbreak of influenza, which saw a few of the island residents die. The First World War brought a naval detachment, which allowed regular food and mail deliveries, living on the island became easier, with less isolation from the outside world. However, at the end of the war, when these services were withdrawn, those on the island felt more isolated. With the breakdown on the economy, many of the island residents emigrating, and the severe weather that the island experienced, caused the request for those living to be evacuated to the mainland. In 1931, it was sold to the Marquess of Bute, who left it to National Trust of Scotland in 1957. It has remained property of the National Trust of Scotland till today.

A spokesperson from the National Trust of Scotland issues a statement, which detailed the reasons why it was sold, primarily due to the generous offer which would allow the National Trust to maintain and reserve many of its heritage sites, but also the dedication of Harold Wells and his team to protect, conserve and maintain the island so as it not be forgotten. The Wells Foundation declined comment.

Transcript of Interview with Ray Samson, August 26 2015.  Conducted by J.P. McNair.

I decided not to contact Ray Samson in advance of any interview. I simply turned up where Sarah told me he'd be, in the Scottish highlands. The address she gave me wasn't a house, but a pub. It's a log cabin, a shack, located on the edge of the woodland, just outside the town. Inside, it's a beautiful wood furnished bar, serving a combination of Scottish favourites and food you'd expect to find in an American diner. You could either order a Steak Pie or a bucket of wings and a bottle of beer.

I enter, and it's quiet. Not many people in it. There's a man behind the bar, who smiles as I enter. It's Ray Samson. He's different from the pictures I've seen. His hair is frayed and thinning, almost gone. He has a paunch figure, is slightly hunched and walks with a slight limp. If you knew Ray Samson from times gone by, you wouldn't recognise him. Which I suppose was the point.

I approached the bar.

"Welcome. What can I get you?" smiled Ray.

I'll take a beer.

He takes a pint glass and starts to pour the pint. He glances up at me.

"What brings you up North?" he asked.

I'm doing some research, for a book.

"An author? We don't get many authors here. What's the book about?"

It's based on a true story.

Ray's smile seemed to flicker. "True story?"

Yes. I was advised by one of the people I interviewed to try coming up here for some more research.

He places the pint in front of me. "Well, I hope you find what you need. Any chance of a signed copy when it comes out?"

I fix him with a stare and smile.

Course. Although I was hoping it would be you that would do the signing.

His smile slipped away completely. "What do you mean?"

I'm hoping you'll be in it.

"Why would I be in it?"

Well, I was talking to Sarah Barr, I think you know each other, and she suggested you might have some interesting insights.

Ray stopped and stared at me. I saw his eyes flick toward the door before his shoulders promptly sagged. He called into the back. "Jimmy, I'm taking a break. Old friend."

He comes limps out from behind the bar and leads me to a booth in the back.

"Come on, let's get this over with."

We sit down and he orders two beers for himself, a bucket of BBQ glazed chicken wings and some nachos. I'm surprised. Usually people telling a story such as this tend to lose their appetite. Not Ray. He must have seen me looking at his banquet and shrugged.

"I eat when I'm stressed. And as you can see, I'm often stressed." He patted his gut. "What do you want to know?"

All of it.

He ate a chicken wing and took a swig of beer before speaking again.

"I want you to know, from the outset, that we didn't intend for things to play out the way they did. We wanted to do good."

We? You mean you, Tom, Isabel and the Wells Foundation?

He flinched at the mention of The Wells Foundation, an involuntary twitch. He pointed his beer toward me.

"They had no intention of doing any good. They wanted to line their pockets, that's all. As soon as they got involved, that's when it went to shit. You know, we grew up on a diet of movies where shady organisations get involved and fuck things up and we thought it was an over-used clichés and a tired Hollywood trope. We had no idea that they could so accurately predict what would happen; it's a staple for a reason. Once the money men are involved, we lost control. The world runs on the blood of coin, don't forget that."

I didn't think you'd be so--?

"—Morose?"

I was going to say philosophical.

He shrugged, took another swig of beer and paused before speaking.

"How was Sarah?

She was OK.

He looked out, thinking. "When I say we lost control, we never really had control. It was over from the very beginning."

I pushed record on the microphone and took out my pen.