Inchkenneth

After a night at anchor in Lon Bearnus, we set a course west to circle around Ulva and Gometra. With the always-tempting Treshnish isles dotting the horizon to the west, we made our way along the southern coast of Ulva. Once past the collonaded castles, we motored into the shallow waters between Inchkenneth and Mull. The anchor was set, and we loaded into the inflatable to seek a landing on St Kenneth's Isle.

The tide was low, and the reefs that pierce the sea meant we had to putter a mile to the south, where we went ashore on the sandy beach of Chapel Bay. From there, it was an easy climb to the chapel. 

The thirteenth-century chapel sits on the site of St Kenneth’s monastery. Three chapel walls still stand, but the south wall is mostly missing. Entering through a door in its north wall, we came across a collection of carved medieval tombstones. Two lancet windows in the east gable let the sun shine on the scant remains of an altar. James Boswell, writing in 1773, mentions the presence of a Celtic handbell on the altar. Unfortunately, it disappeared sometime in the last 200 years.

Above the chapel, set among the tombstones of the burial ground, is the Inchkenneth cross. It is made from a single piece of grey-blue slate with zigzag designs carved along its edges. The elegant ring-headed cross stands five feet tall and dates to the sixteenth century. Most of the decoration has worn off, but a pair of shears is still visible at the bottom of the shaft. Below them, and hardly discernible, is something with bristles, possibly a brush or comb. The significance of the shears and comb may come from their ceremonial use in cutting the tonsure.

Twenty years had passed since my first visit to Inchkenneth. Seeing the chapel, burial ground, and the elegant cross made me a bit nostalgic. It can be a bad idea to revisit a special place like this, as you risk marring a cherished memory. I would not have come back here on my own, but guiding people who’d never been there gave the visit a vastly different perspective. I was bringing a cherished memory to like-minded souls. The visit would not mar a memory but make a new one.

After a look at the well, its waters bubbling down to the sea, we climbed the hillside above Inchkenneth House. The house has quite a history. It was once the home to Harold Boulton, who was known for writing lyrics for The Skye Boat Song.  After that, it was a holiday home for the Mitfords. It is unlikely, but there is a rumour Hitler visited the island.

Near the high point, we came to a semi-circular enclosure containing a small bench. Twenty years ago, I was told by the fellow who managed the island for the Barlows (the current owners) that it was called Poets' Corner. No poets are buried here, but it is a spot that could inspire a verse or two.

Several famous folks found refuge on Inchkenneth, and all of them would have come to the corner to revel in the isolation. The corner deserves a poem from all visitors. Here’s a go:

In 1773, Boswell, and Johnson, too,

  Stood at Poets’ Corner to enjoy the view.

In 1930, came Harold Bolton, in the last years of life,

  He’d make the climb from the house, along with his loving wife.

Then there were the Mitford girls: Unity plus five,

  A sad fascist, she left, barely alive.

And rumors are afloat, that from a U-boat,

  Came a man named Adolf, too.

When the time came to leave, the tide had dropped several feet, which meant there was no way the inflatable could come ashore. And so we descended the short cliff to the kelp beach below the house, then made our way north across a beautiful, white-sand beach to a spot where the inflatable could come close. The boots had to come off, and it was a cold wade 100 feet out to where the RIB was barely afloat.

Under a gloriously blue Hebridean sky, we set off from Inchkenneth. The itinerary for the next day was exciting: Eileach an Naoimh of the Isles of the Sea, the site of St Brendan's Monastery.