 The first item of business is members' business debates on motion 14614, in the name of Alastair Allen, on the centenary of the Islayer disaster. This debate will be concluded without any questions being put, and I would ask those who wish to speak in the debate to press the request to speak buttons. Some members have indicated that they will be using Gaelic and interpretation facilities that are available, so you can listen by inserting your headphones into the socket on the right-hand side towards the front of the console. If there is a problem, you cannot hear the interpretation, try using the audio button and selecting channel 1 for English. I call on Alastair Allen to open the debate for around seven minutes, please. O'r fiacor, oedden nhw'n cydm乎 chi, yr eich ddif starshau yng Nghaer Sgwrsfer, a'r fiacor ddif, a'r fiacor ddif wedi gwneud ei sefydig, yn y bach nifes yn teimlo yn dda nhw'n gwneud ei cynnod addysg ar gyda ni'n phoesu ryeb i gyda'r reis cydmell. Mae i bob i nhw'n gwneud ei sefydig ar gyfer bach i gael ei ddif, ac mae i'n fawr i'r ddif, cofael i'r ddif, cais Sigelящoedd i ni'r gynnygwyd duadrilor yn Hen Biadol, rhyw fydda'r gynhyfrindydd iawn.. ..yndem yn sifat mengr yn fydda'n seminaristau. Rwy'n dzCOdgarol ar gyfer gyfan, mae mae hynny yn galw. Rwy'n ddiffenio lle fydda fitna bobl mwyn ag dday cam mwy oain dda'r sydd am rylechau i mwy o rhai yn gyfael, ési chi'n gyffredin amser nagibain i blin... Alun i ni'n gwybredig yn一起u mor weldir yn gan parliamentau eich..., ..unda gael ein panlwygabil a rydyn nhw roedd i rhoi lans ysgriffитaf prayr... bwyd idd balch yn y gystiwllach yn ystahel yn yn oes yn blion eich yn môr y gysynlau'n ddiw. Rwt a chyd, a chi'n ystafell ar ym merych am eu clechgyrg yn y fachgylch yn, nacht dyganu'n mynd yn rwt a chyd haest. Sto hoed gyfel rwt y cynfrych ar hyn, iddysgais gyda rhoi groi co gosht na chydw'r mwyntio'n aniela'n môr yn mynd i'n tref i'ch idd blion y coiw. Mae'n aeolair na cwsbydd rhoi ffianyl a hollol o'n y car o'r môl o'n oes yn byw. A cherd gyfel sy'n gychwyn i'ch gynnwys, gyda blion y aes y yw i, ac mae'n taen i'n gael i ddiddordeb gyfel dyw'n eu ffogach tuwf yn y ffarnol mewn i'w gysyn i unrhyw. Rwt a chyd, mae'n haes gael na'eolair. Edych y hallyn, lleiwch i, gyda hollol o'n haes rajwys iawn i'ch lanfaol a allwn i, a ffordd gyda tref iawn i, gyda hyrhonigwch i i. Ond mae'n aeolair increased. Roi hollol i'ch arweinydd, a cherd gyfrych fod yn onton i, ac mae'n yn fawr o'n aeolair i'r chledd ddiddordeb. Mae'n aeolair mwylon heolwyr ar hyn. Mae ieolwyr o chydlis môr i'w chei'r gwach â siarol o'r hollol o'r hyn. Mae'n tor yn lawer bod i chi'n gwneud hyn, sydd y cyfgr Hate ond mae'n hawdd yn hygyrch yn nhw, ac mae'n gilydd i'r niw a chadoru ychydig yn ddlawn o'r ddweud o fe ddin yn ei wneud deintriflasio, ac ndr-on, tos jech yn fwy o dweud sydd y cadw o'r ddweud o fe ddweud o fe ddin yn ei wneud treffasio Cymru o'r ddweud yn gynghau cyffredinol o ddweud o'r cynnig yn fan dyw. Ond mae'n ei ddweud o fe ddweud o fe ddweud o fe ddweud o fe ddweud o fe ddweud o dda fel y ffall efo'r teych write, fe ceithio efo'icu'r gwirwyr sy'n gŵr dda fwy o iddyn sefad. Mae'r gwyll yn ei ddweud, ac yn ymddir i'w gwirwyr ddigon, felly efo eu ddweud yn gwirwyr i'w gwirwyr yn ymddir i'u gwirwyr. Rwy'n gwrs, mae'n dwi'n rhan o'n amser i ymddir i'w gwirwyr. A bobi'r lleiadau gyntafas i dda chi'n ysauwn fwyny. Ysbeth nid i chi i, nôr i ddefnyddio'r rŵt yn fawr o'ch siwr tachor, ffa ymwntwch tiwlwch iddych chi eihast, gyda chi dda fi'r ffa lwf y ffeil gyffoeg yn ochr, mae'r rhaid iddy fi ffoeg yn ochr o'r siwr yn cehid blionwch yn ffat ym mhag yng Ngor o'r anio os ychydigol. Mae'ch rech, mae'ch rech sy'n hanig chai angartychus gythu'r, mae'n deud i'ch grian yma ddoch symwch gars yn fag yn lws, chai ffys yr ffwg gachatio gyngor yn tarm yn rheshr o'r ddwl i'n clodwch chi'r yn aru i'n yma hwch yn sgwrwnt. Felly, mae'n laen ysdweithio'n ffa mwynti'r yw oes y ciet yma chi ddynt rhaid, ac yslo'r ym môr yn yw cwrp. Mae'r rhaid o'r unchorb ym mhes gach tri i ddylo'r ychydigol, ac ysfathor i ddynglach o'ch ymbroi'n hefaleu'r heim. Felly, пут inquiry a behalf linear yn lingw ar hyn o rhaniaf 친구 c taldo i d glyfodol unwsbryd yn skrach, �acking ac rbn הא�gain yn gweithio'r he Bradlin, ac yn digi golygu o hyn o gw 1973. Mae'r rhanut yn stiff gennymogol yn dod o'u ddygael yn ddeseb datblygu'r eraill yn eich ddalion sydd yn y gyf gefragt. Mae'r ydych chi'n gael i fynd i'r unrhyw iawn i gael i'r ddafodol i'r edrych ar fan sylwg nhw i'i gael i'r crfodol i'r llachau. Mae'r rôl i'r cychwyn gyntafol, yn fawr i fynd i'r llachau a'r gannu am y llachau, ac i'r llachau, i'r llachau a'r llachau. Mae'r hwn i'r ein hwn i'r gael i fwy o'r unrhyw iawn i'r gael i'r arblom. Dwi'n edrych i'r llwsoeth yn fawr ar hyn o'r gwneud ychwaneddaf, ac yn llwsoedd gan gwybod ychwaneddaf yn fawr arfer. Rwy'r hyn o'r gwenddiau sydd wedi'i duchwn i'r cyffredinol i hoffa arall, a'r hoffa ar hyn yn archifosibol yn rhan o ran ag y dyfodol. A chwyn o'r parw sydd oedd yn cynnoha i gyflymu unigoddiol? Rwy'r hyn o'r hoffa ar hyn o'r hoffa ar hyn o'r hoffa ar hyn o'r hoffa ar hyn o'r hoffa ar hanyio gyda llwsoedd. yn ffordd o fan o'r leirio cais i'r cynnig arwyd. Felly, nid oes i chi ddweud coni arlochol amser o bob awr, funer a chyfodd iddyn nhw, fel arnochol mae'r gwriio. Felly, mae'n bwysig i ni o ran ffordd o'r lleidio'r gwriio o ran schryfod eich bod, fel y gwirio, fel yr ymdryd wedi'r cynnig ar ddoch chi'n gweld i ni meddwl creu'r gwirio, fel y mach i ddyn nhw'r llaw, sy'n yn siosru bwyd y ffec yn ailau'r edrych o'r hoi osnog yn ylios y gysnohaerwch, ac ysgwun i'ch hannu gan ailau'r mysgioi cocul yn sy'r oannwch o'r hoi osnog i ddyn nhw'n myl i'r triciat niach elu ychaw. Yn sy'n ddigblu o'n eich hyn o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi o'r hoi. Chai mor yng Nghyrch Cenedda, Australia, Nostagyn a'r Nesilend dronafichet yn. Rwy'n nhw'n byw sy'n y coi nhw'ch eich hoci fawr yn y ddoi a charan abstract, ac rwy'n nhw'n rwy'n byw abstract mewn yn aeolau'r. Rwy'n nhw'n cyhochwch chi'n blio'n elyser o'r fysgen a'n ysgio'r nhw'n byw sy'n bies yn hwnnw i ddweithio haling ac i ddweithio'n blio'n nhw'r yw. Auf gy supplements, ddau hyn yn gy !" slightestwventa sumon nhw hi'n ni dechreu chi'n hynاء sydd coi manufactured whiskin, mwy o'u plant alias y blio yn mynd i ddweithio. Diolchai i ddweithio teimladifavu arwain i ddweithio eu swryddau arbennigalen nhw mynd i'i ddweithio i god severusu'n credu i wneud am hynny tawnnad ar ein ni annib arестau hynny. dyn nhau yn y hanig yn cocol y mor chi'r cychwaith fyrevent mysg y ffrwyddoch. Haid kech iddyn nhw chi'n ciad blyny yn wneud i ddóch chi, ond gweld y ffarnol mewn iawn amgylch ym Mwnebyn Glwyddiol? We're moving out of the open debate, and we're quite tight for time, sorry. If everyone could stick to no more than four minutes, what is the call following the Angus MacDonald? I thank Alasdair Allan today for bringing this timely motion to the chamber. The ILA disaster was an unequivocal tragedy indeed, and returning servicemen lost in the sight of their home. Commemorations are always sobering, and I'm aware of this also with recently commemorating the disaster of the Otranto and Tuscania on the north coast of Ila area on this year as part of the World War I commemorations, which I was involved in. The sinking of the ILA with the death of at least 201 men so close to their own shores strikes an especially poignant cord. Over the course of the First World War over 6,000 Lewismen joined the war effort. About 20,000 of the island's population and over 1,000 of these servicemen died during the war, a high toll for such a small community. Every family had a father, brother, uncle or son who had died. For those who were fortunate enough to reach the end of the conflict, we can imagine their relief to be heading homeward. They could look to the new year, facing comforts and similarities of the loved ones eagerly awaiting their arrival, and on the eve of New Year's Day 1919, Her Majesty's Ilair, a Gaelic for Eagle, left Cytl of Al-Khalsh bound for the Stornoway Harbour on the Isle of Lewis. The yacht was overloaded with Royal Navy men, mostly from rural Lewis, when life belts were few and far between. By the small hours of the morning, and at one point only 20 yards from the harbour in clear view of the lights of home, the Ilair struck rocks off the beast of home. Families waiting by the shore for their loved ones could only watch in shock. With heavy uniform being worn, weighing them down, swimming to safety proved too difficult for many. Many islanders grew up without the ability to swim, having been worn to stay away from the cliffs at an early age. One man, John F. McLeod, managed to reach shore putting a line of rope which helped to save over 40 lives. Another man clung to the mast of the Ilair for hours until he could be rescued, and 175 natives of the island were claimed by the sea. Some men were found with rings and letters in their pockets, some men were never found. The impact of this catastrophic loss on the western isles was devastating. In essence, it seemed that a whole generation of young men had gone, and in the island communities the loss was stark. Families who believed that their loved ones had escaped the threat of war were confronted with a disaster that they could not have imagined. The morning was redoubled, as the Scotsman newspaper wrote in the aftermath. Many have had sorrow heaped upon sorrow. We see why the Ilair disaster witnessed life's end for over 200 men. It was also sourced as a vast depth of grief for many more, and that cannot be underestimated. For men who had battled enemy fires, survived torpedoes and suffered the extremes of war, this was a bitter end in the view of their homes. For the islanders of Lewis, Harris and the surrounding isles, the inquiry into the disaster failed to find a solid conclusion as to how this was allowed to happen. With the century of the Ilair disaster approaching this new year, I recognised the commemorations that created an honour of those lost. Islanders have long known of the moments of the disaster, and it is time that the wider Scotland has a greater understanding and appreciation of the extent of its impact. Indeed, marking this remembrance has led to an increased vocalisation of grief passing through the generations and the western isles. Those commemorations have been a fitting and collective act of remembrance, while the war memorial on Lewis was officially opened in 1924 and a monument not placed at the beast of home until 1958. I am pleased to see the tributes of today. For example, porches of 100 sailors who died in the Ilair have been created by Margaret Ferguson, an award-winning artist whose great uncle was among the death dealt on that night. Those porches have brought the men to life and have touched home for many families. The exhibition will open on 29 December on Lewis, and last month locals planted trees along the road that leads to the war memorial. On this anniversary, the Prince of Wales and the First Minister will jointly mark the centenary with a visit. Those acts of remembrance are incredibly important, and they allow us to respectfully acknowledge the disaster and the heavy toll that it has had on the island community. To conclude, I joined my colleagues in commemorating the Ilair disaster. It opened a new year for the islands that they could not have imagined and saw the death of those who thought that they had escaped its hold. As one of the UK's worst maritime disasters, it is a significant loss of life that we need to be conscious of, and I commend us all to remember it today. Angus Macdonald, followed by Rhoda Grant. Firstly, I thank Alistair Allan for bringing this important debate to the chamber. I am sure that each and every resident of Lewis and Harris appreciates such a traumatic event receiving the recognition of the chamber debate just two weeks away from the centenary. As Aliosach or Lewisman, this is probably the most difficult speech that I ever had to write or deliver in the chamber. Born and bred not just on Lewis, but on the farm where the tragedy happened, the Ilair disaster has been deeply ingrained in me since I could be aware of it as a toddler. The beasts of hollum where the Ilair ran aground are technically just a few yards off the cliffs and rocks at Stonyfield Farm. At the time of the tragedy, my great-grandfather hadn't yet taken over Stonyfield. The farmer at the time was Anderson Young, who opened the Stonyfield farmhouse doors to many of the 79 survivors who made it ashore on that horrendous night, giving shelter and warmth to them. However, it was soon after the tragedy that Anderson Young moved with his family to Canada, presumably in large part due to the trauma that the tragedy had caused to him, his wife and children. My great-grandfather took on the tendency of Stonyfield just a few months after the tragedy and my grandfather was to go on the tendency of neighboring hollum farm a few years later. At the time of the tragedy, my grandfather and my three great-uncles were in their late teens and early twenties living in the village of Sandwick just next to the farms. They would have been involved in the retrieving of the bodies from the shores of Sandwick beach and around the farm shoreline on that fateful day. I don't know for sure if that was the case because they never talked about it. That has been the case on the island since the tragedy. Nobody or very few people spoke of the disaster. Even when I was growing up in the 60s, some 40 or 50 years after the disaster, it was still not discussed. I think that many events that are taking place, the commemorations that are taking place on the island, are acting in a kind of cathartic way, allowing people to come to terms that long last was the grief and hurt that still exists and is still tangible on the island to this day. It took just over 40 years for an official memorial to be erected at the site. My grandfather donated the land for the memorial and I am pleased to see that it has been renovated for the centenary. Of course, the path down to the memorial from the former Coast Guard station road end has been greatly improved in advance of the commemorations. Born and brought up at Stonyfield and Holland Farms, I have experienced the impact of storm force gales there. On the night of the tragedy, the ship ran aground during what was up to a force 10 gale, possibly stronger. I have walked around the headland at Holland Point in force 10 gales and stronger a number of times. One time, I was losing my footing and nearly slipping into the rough sea. I have seen walls of water lifting up from Stornoway Bay and crashing into Stonyfield farmhouse. It is beyond my comprehension what those poor souls endured. It is beyond my understanding how there were even 79 survivors on such a horrendously stormy night. As the award-winning blogger Katie Lang puts it in her excellent Hebride's writer blog, the eye layer is in our DNA. I found it difficult to put in words my feelings. If it is all right, I will quote from the current Minister of St Columbus Church in Stornoway, the Reverend William Heenan, who said at the opening of the exhibition at Sandwick Hall, that, as we approach the 100-year anniversary of the eye layer disaster, the memories of the inconsolable loss of life still evoke steep emotions in our island population, emotions that have been inherited from previous generations who lived through that fateful hugmany night and who had personally experienced the darkest dawn of New Year's Day 1919. The cloud of silence that has then enveloped this island and our people and which has pervaded this community in every generation since is only now beginning to lift. These last four years of rolling commemorations for the First World War and the various major battles fought during it have in some respect helped to prepare us for this, the hardest and final of these commemorations, the loss of the eye layer. However, the silent grief borne by the people of Lewis and Harris, the excruciating pain of the sorrow that has permeated every fibre in the warp and weft of the fabric of this society and the lack of both information and answers as to why and how the disaster occurred, have to a large extent inhibited the island from processing and working through their loss and coming to terms with their heartache. Time has helped to heal some of the wounds inflicted by the events of that terrible night, enabling people to at last begin to speak about it and to process its harrowing legacy, but the scars of the tragedy still remain. They are indelibly ingrained in the psyche of islanders and their diaspora, just as the peatbanks and lazy beds no longer work still mark and scar the landscape of our island topography. Rhoda Grant, followed by John Finnie. Thank you, Presiding Officer. I also thank Alistair Allan for securing this debate. In a year that marked the centenary of the end of World War I, we are fast approaching the last commemoration, the sinking of the Isle air. The islands had provided many men to fight in the services for the world war and that has already suffered great losses. You can only imagine the relief of families hearing that their loved ones were on their way home, believing them to be safe and making preparations to welcome them. There must have been a near of excitement or maybe just relief. For the men themselves arriving at Kyle must have been like a home coming of its own. Those who had previously been fishermen would have been in familiar surroundings as they would have often birthed and landed their catch in Kyle. They knew the crossing well so close to home, possibly for the first time in years. They would have also been meeting old friends catching up on news. Home was within touching distance. As more men arrived, the sheela, the boat that was taking them, was already close to capacity and the Isle air was sent to fetch them home. The Isle air was not equipped with sufficient safety equipment for the number of men that were likely to sail. However, it was hog money, it would have been cold, too cold for people to be outside for the night and it was likely that there would have been insufficient accommodation in Kyle for all of them. It appears that there were some discussions about that, but with more and more men arriving in Kyle, the decision was taken to sail with devastation in consequences. As Angus MacDonald said, many believe that the tragedy was a cause of mass migration from the islands in the 1920s and it has certainly contributed to poverty and the islands economy is yet to recover properly from that. As we approached the centenary of the loss of the Isle air, I was surprised to hear, as we have been hearing today from Alice Derrall and many islanders, say that they had only recently become aware of it. It was never spoken about in their homes and villages so deep was the loss. When I was very young, I first heard about the sinking of the Isle air, so young that it feels like it was something that I have known about all my life. My grandfather fought in both world wars as did his father. My grandfather never spoke to me about his wartime experiences. We knew of it because of his medals and because he had an old demob union flag that he flew every time there was a wedding in the village. However, he did speak about the Isle air. He told us of the tragedy and the loss experienced by the whole island. Those communities have come together and will continue to come together over the following weeks to mark the centenary. We must stand together and do this with them. I hope that the site where the Isle air sunk has recognised us a war grave, although I understand that there is very little left of the boat. However, the Beasts of Holland will mark the spot where those men fell. Chris Murray, whose work with the Coast Guard is recognised by the Queen's Gallantry Medal, has offered to dive to lay a wreath on the site on new year's day. That will be another fitting tribute to those who were lost so close to home 100 years ago. As people begin to speak about the tragedy more widely, we see how those events impacted on so many lives. My Gallantry to told me that his grandfather had been on the Isle air and had, for some reason, transferred to the Sheila, a decision that saved his life. I also found out only recently that John McLeod, who bravely swam a shore with a rope and saved so many lives, was the great-grand-uncle of Chris Bryant, the MP. The personal stories come to life. We must preserve those stories and remember those who were lost. John Finnie, followed by Gillian Martin. Moron tank, Presiding Officer. Gavish Mulliskol hynny y lach, bec yn gallu cael cym, mawr y safas, fe mi mi, bior le brian. I would like to thank Alasdair Allan for bringing this debate here and what little gallic I have, I hope, was sufficient to convey that a gallic proverb that said, there is hope of the man at sea, but none of the man in the churchyard. I think that hope is what underpins a lot of people's thoughts around this time. Men who had escaped the ravishes of war, loved ones who are waiting for them to return unscathed, the likelihood is that, of course, they wouldn't return unscathed, they would have been damaged by a brutal war. As long as the sea of hope remained intact for those people, I wonder how we show respect. We show respect to the 174 men from Lewis and the Seven for Harris by speaking today like this and showing that we value the 205 men who died. The First World War was driven by people who did not value lives. They had a contempt for life for many of those people. The sailors survived a war only to die hours from their shore, which is a terrible tragedy. As has been said with families waiting for them, some in the key side of the war are burning out as they understand. The impact that others have mentioned is that Lewis and Harris lost a fifth of its population in the war. 6,000-plus men had served their country, and that had a significant impact on the Gael Tach in Scotland and, as we have heard on the whole communities. I think that there is a collective mourning, almost a collective denial, and we would understand the significant impact that that has had on generations. The lack of value was reflected by the fact that they perished in an overloaded boat with insufficient life boats and life jackets. I will not go into detail of the tragedy. People know how dangerous anyone who has travelled over the Minchin general knows how dangerous the waters can be. Others have alluded to the very brave humane acts that took place and the great efforts that went in to save people. That was the worst UK maritime disaster since 1904 and the worst peacetime disaster of a British ship since the Titanic and the largest loss of life in UK waters since 1904. Someone else, I think that Maurice Corry referred to the Scotsman and the coverage saying many, have had a sorrow heaped upon a sorrow, and that is the terrible reality. Efforts to address that, there was a public inquiry held in Stornoway in the 10th of February, 1919. The local community provided seven men for the jury. The jury reached their verdict that the navy were responsible. There was a naval inquiry. It was held in private, and it was held in the 8th of January. As has been said, the admiralty put the wreck up for sale just 15 days after the disaster. The Royal Navy ruled that, in non-survival of any of the officers on the board, the Islayer said, that no opinion can be given as to whether blame is attributed to anyone in the matter. Again, that is indicative of the fact that survival over the ordinary ratings clearly was not valued. There was the Islayer inquiry, as I said, and I understand that it gathered dust in the admiralty vaults for over 50 years. The findings were not released into the public domain until 1970, and I think that that is a disgrace. The admiralty were insensitive in putting the vessel up for sale 15 days after the disaster when there were 80 bodies unaccompanied. That was an action that appalled the community. Skip and Isha, a group of guys from Tyree, who will be Gaelic speakers, they have a song just now. New Year of Peace would dawn tomorrow, sing to me the island ocean from hope and joy to wrenching sorrow far to the west and whirls away from the futile fields of war. I think that we can best commemorate these people by not allowing a repetition of war. Thank you very much. Can I give a reminder to members that we are very, very tight for time? Gillian Martin, followed by Edward Mountain. Thank you, Presiding Officer. The thinking of the Islayer and the loss of life that night in 1919 has to be one of the cruelest events in Scottish history. I want to thank the constituency MSP for Lewis and Hallis-Alan for giving us the chance to reflect on it today and remember the men who survived the horrors of the First World War, yet never made it home to their families. Unlike many people speaking today's debate, I do not have any personal connections to Lewis or those affected by the Islayer tragedy, but it has been very emotional listening to members who have, particularly Angus MacDonald's, powerful speech. I wanted to speak today because I remember hearing of the Islayer when I was at school. I had a very good O-grade history teacher and I remember him going into a lot of detail about the impact that the war had on those at home in Scotland, not particularly part of the curriculum, but he added that extra to it. I guess that he may be as fairly cushioned 15-year-olds in the 1980s. He wanted us to try and grasp in some small way the devastating legacy that war has had on Scottish society. The Islayer disaster was one of the events that he told us about as he tried to bring home the myriad of ways in which the war hollowed out a generation. He is telling of it really made an impression on me. This terrible event is said to have set in chain an exodus of young people from the island in years to come, particularly young women who lost their loves. One of the most heartbreaking accounts that I read said that engagement ring was found in the pocket of one young man who drowned. Similarly, accounts of toys washed up in the beach bought by young fathers as they look forward to seeing their kids after so much time apart is heartbreakingly difficult to read even 100 years on. The young women of Lewis now lived in a community where the male population of the island was decimated. Future hopes for marriages, future hopes for raising a family, were lost to a generation of Lewis women. Future thoughts of raising a new generation of Lewis children were lost to many families. Many families were obviously loved by their sons, husbands, brothers and fathers in communities that already had lost over 1,000 young men in battle. In reading more this week, I was struck by this comment from local Lewis historian, Roddie Murray, who said that we conspiculate on its contribution to the mass emigrations of the 20s, its effect on the Lewis character, the rebirth of an inherent fatalism, its effect was like the Passover of the Old Testament. It is fair to say that the war and the loss of young men possibly did put in chain a mass emigration to the likes of Canada, New Zealand, United States and Australia as people tried to leave the tragedy behind. We read accounts of those left behind in Lewis who, with the shock of the disaster, left many unable to ever speak of what happened, to ever vocalise the unfairness of the hand that Ireland had been dealt with. Of course, as many others have mentioned, the Islayer was second only to the sinking of the Titanic in terms of life lost to an accident sea in peacetime, yet there are no Hollywood film epics, no minute-by-minute drama documentaries on repeat on the history channel. Perhaps the reason for that is that the grief was so concentrated in one community and therefore too painful to ever be dramatised or retold in anything other than a quiet and contemplative way, if at all. I try to have a sense of any kind of tragedy that I can relate to in a similar way to the Piper Alpha disaster, which many of us find hard to speak of in our area. However, as Alasdair Allison has said, the loss of life at that scale in the island community is something that people like myself who do not live in an island community cannot really get their head round. This year, we have talked often and quite rightly of the sacrifice made by so many in the First World War and the centenary of the war's end. I want to again thank Alasdair Allison for once again allowing us to pay our respects to the returning servicemen of Lewis, their families and the community who were so deeply scarred by the tragic accident that day. I am conscious that we have heard a lot this afternoon from people who are very closely related to this incident. I do not want to add very much more to say but to thank Alasdair Allison for bringing this debate to the chamber. It is right that we should be thinking about this event as we think about returning home at Christmas. The fact that it was 100 years ago that there were 280 men, sailors who were involved, trying to travel home as well for the new year makes it more poignant. I have been interested to hear about the overloaded boat and the fact that the navy did not respond as it should have done and the fact that those sailors were weighed down with care. The great heroism that we heard of John Finlay McLeod swimming ashore with his rope and rescuing the 40 men. It is right that he is immortalised for his effort and the sculpture to be unveiled by Prince Charles in the new year. I think that it is right that we remember at Christmas the time when it should be a joyous time that we should be spending with our family that in 1919 in the new year there were lots who did not. People lost brothers, husbands, uncles, cousins. I struggled to understand and comprehend how difficult that would be because every family would be connected. I am keeping my contribution short purely because I want to hear other people's contributions, but I think that it is right that we think about the worst maritime disaster that we have had in Britain's history. It is more tragic for the fact that these sailors had survived the Great War and were returning home. I would like to finish by commending all those who are organising the national commemorative services at new year. I know that a huge amount of energy has gone into those preparations and I am sure that the events will be a fitting act of remembrance to the national disaster. I thank Mr Mountain for giving us some time back. Joan McAlpine, followed by Lewis MacDonald. Can I start by paying tribute to Alasdair Allan for securing this debate? It is fitting that our Parliament gives time for reflection and commemoration almost a century after this disaster, which took 201 lives. I say fitting because, as others have said, for a long time this tragedy was seldom mentioned in public discourse. It was so enormous and scale, it was almost an unspeakable thing. Those young men survived the slaughter of World War I only to perish within sight of home and their loss cast a dark. Silent shadow over the islands which had lost so many more young men in the war and others have talked about the significant demographic effect that that had. Those men would have been coming home to start families with their sweethearts, as others have said. As it was, depopulation accelerated rapidly in the 1920s in the Gael Tach. There is another Ilear legacy. The years of silence have lifted and the tragedy is now properly explored and features extensively in the oral, social and cultural history of the Outer Hebrides. I want to pay particular tribute to a dedicated web resource in Gaelic in English, created by the National Records of Scotland, which digitises a wealth of the original documents and oral history from the time, including facsimiles of news reports, such as this one in The Scotsman from 6 January 1919. It reads, carts and little processions of twos and threes, each bearing its coffin from the mortuary, pass through the streets of Stonaway on their way to some rural village, and all heads are buried as they pass. The digital resource also draws on the work of the journalist John MacLeod, who is highly praised book when I heard the bell, documents the loss of the Ilear in its aftermath. There are interviews with islanders of today's generation, such as 17-year-old Freya MacLeod, the great granddaughter of the Ilear survivor, John Finlay MacLeod, who saved upwards of 40 people on the stric and ship by swimming ashore with a life rope. The resource also links to some of the many artistic responses to the Ilear disaster, such as recordings made in the 1970s by musicians and poets who were alive at the time of the sinking. Contemporary artists have also responded to the centenary, and Lantern is currently showing Don Till Dark, an exhibition featuring the work of glass artist Alec Galloway and photographer Vary Law. Although, unfortunately, I have been unable to see the exhibition, I have been impressed by some of the images that I have been able to view. My partner, who is a writer, assisted Mr Galloway with a piece called Harbour Full of Words. It is a beautiful, large glass bowl filled with seawater from the harbour in Lit beneath, and containing 201 pieces of sea glass collected from beaches where victims were found. Each piece of the glass is etched with a word connected to the Ilear, including the names of all those who died. The New Year sees another exhibition in Ilear 100 by Margaret Ferguson, featuring portraits of the sailors who died, as well as those who survived. That is fitting, because although the tragedy of the Ilear is all about loss, it is also about survival. A community that suffered so much loss, death and migration did survive is that Galloway culture continues to inspire people around the world. Lives were stolen that night, but hope was not extinguished. The Ilear has become a symbol of sorrow, certainly, but also a symbol of resilience. Lewis MacDonald, followed by Kenneth Gibson. Thank you very much. I was a child in Stornway in the 1960s, years after the Ilear disaster. Many women of the Ilear generation were still alive when I was a boy. I saw them simply as Calyach's old woman, dressed in black. I did not know then how many had lost their husbands or fiancés on a single day so many years before and mourned them still. The Calyach's dressed in black reflected the pain of the whole town of the whole island. Many young men had perished in the Great War. Many younger women and men were to leave for North America in the hungry 20s. In between came this terrible, gut-wrenching, soul-saving loss of so many who had survived the war and so nearly one home. Fifty years later, the despair of that dark and stormy night still dominated the life of the island. Yet so painful was it that people in Lewis then hardly talked of it at all, as Alistair Allen and others have said. As Alistair Allen also said, the loss was not in Lewis alone. My grandfather Donald John MacDonald was of the same generation. When the Great War ended, he was 28 years old, a member of the Royal Naval Reserve, like most of those who drowned on the Ilear, and he had served in the Mediterranean since 1915. He had grown up in the Isle of Burnary of Harris, a little island of a few hundred souls. His own father had died at sea, his widded mother had raised her children in a cottage by the key. Home leave for Donald John involved a voyage to Stornoway from the mainland, then a 60-mile walk to Rodol or Obe in Harris, or a run home in a fishing boat from wherever he could find one going in the right direction. Mercifully, Donald John was not travelling home on leave that new year. He was not on board the Ilear. He went on to sail the Seven Seas as a merchant seaman in the 1920s, to marry Mary MacDonald from North East to raise a family of her own. Other young men from Burnary were not so lucky. Norman McHillop was 19, Donald Patterson was only 18 when he died on the Ilear. Those were boys my grandfather knew. The loss of even two such young men was a heavy blow for a small place like Burnary. It was a personal tragedy for the families of those who crewed the Ilear, who hailed from ports all around Britain. David MacDonald from Virginia Street by the harbour in Aberdeen, a signal boy aged 17, was the youngest to die that day. School students at Aberdeen Grammar School have helped to remember him this year, adding a granite stone in his name to the new commemorative care in Stornoway. Because even in Lewis, 100 years on, the shadow has retreated and the new generation of islanders are able to commemorate the Ilear in a way that previous generations could not. Ian S. MacDonald wrote many fine songs. One of the finest is the Ilear. Like me and my sister Deirdre, whom he married, Ian was a child in 1960's Stornoway, still in shadow and in silence, but to hear him sing his song of the Ilear was almost to hear the storm itself so dark with rage and loss. That song is his memorial too, as he has died too young in this centenary year. To the families of Lewis, the chilly winds moaned, your sons they have perished and will never come home. It seemed each pebble on the shore. It bore a sailor's name. Could you have communication yet? We will indeed remember them. In order to hear contributions from the last two speakers and the cabinet secretary, I am minded to accept a motion without notice under rule 8.14.3 to extend the debate by up to 30 minutes. I would invite Alasdair Allan to move a motion without notice. The question is that the debate be extended by up to 30 minutes. Are we all agreed? That is agreed, and we have Kenneth Gibson, followed by Johann Lamont. Thank you, Presiding Officer, and I thank my colleague Alasdair Allan for bringing forward this important debate. For those who are listening from outwith the Western Elisys, it might be the first time that they have heard of the Ilear tragedy despite it being the worst peacetime British sea disaster since the Titanic and despite its devastating impact on both the population and morale of those islands. Today, we are bringing that tragic New Year's Day 100 years ago to the fore and highlighting the moving remembrance taking place. Two months after the end of the Great War, leave was granted for many to return home, and in Hygmanie in 1918, Ilear set off from Califolchall at 7.30pm. At 1 am, the Ilear was sailing far, far east for reasons that we do not fully understand as yet. Lights on the beast of home warned of danger, but the ship failed to turn. Its momentum pushed her forward and, as a gail took hold, the Ilear failed to change course. Instead, she carried full steam ahead into the pitch black night, striking the beast of home at 2 am on New Year's morning. Over 200 men died, including 174 from Lewis and seven from Harris. 79 survived, 40 saved, as we have heard by the heroism of John Finlay McLeod. The island's contribution to the Great War had been considerable, with 6,172 men from Lewis serving on the armed forces. A source of pride for an island of just 29,603 souls in 1911. Yet losses had been heavy. From the 51 houses in the village of Llewerbost alone, 32 men had been killed or badly wounded. 11 more would be lost on the Ilear, which sank less than one mile from safe harbour. What is most upsetting about this disaster is that, having survived the horrors of war, the young men should drown as their families gallered to welcome them home to communities that missed them sorely. A third of those lost in the Ilear would never be recovered, but many bodies given up by the sea were washed up on Sandwick shore, a site that haunted those who saw it for the rest of their lives. The tragedy impacted on islanders for decades. Morale was shattered and mass immigration followed. John McLeod, author of a comprehensive account of the disaster, when I heard the bell, wrote that his grandfathers ate at the time and never forgot standing outside his door in the village of Cross and seeing cats coming over the bray with coffins. Cats passing the house, cats with one coffin, cats with two coffins, cats with four coffins, coffins after coffins. Lewis ran out of coffins, which had to be brought from Kyle. That detail encapsulates the scale of the tragedy on such small close-knit communities. 100 years on, the disaster is now entirely out of human memory and yet people are talking about the Ilear. A new generation of islanders wants to understand the pain, the tragedy inflicted, to know the men they lost and the grief felt by those left behind. Perhaps with the last survivor and the last child who lost a father now gone, people are finally free to revisit this tragedy, giving it the commemoration due. One particularly moving contribution to the centenial remembrance is Katrina Black's animated film, You Are at the Bottom of My Mind, building from stories told in Gaelic from decades past by survivors and witnesses, adding a traditional music score, special written for creation and hand drawing 25 frames for every second of a five-minute film. It becomes a moving painting of seven and a half thousand drawings, 10 months in the making, laid with photographs and films such as the seaweed-covered surface of the deadly beast of home and the gravestones of men lost to the sea. Those poignant details bring that artwork to life and remind us of the brutal reality of what happened that night. I encourage everyone to watch the film when it is broadcast on hug money. Today, we have recounted stories of bravery, grief and the sheer waste of human life. Now, a century later, we have a chance to remember and I love the sharing of grief decades in the making. The last of the open debate contributions is from Johann Lamont. Thank you very much, Deputy Presiding Officer. I feel greatly privileged if a little hesitant to participate in this debate, remembering a tragedy, the cruelty and impact of which is almost beyond comprehension. I want to congratulate Alasdair Allan for his beautiful speech. Gallic is certainly not a language that I can speak, but it is the language of my soul, and I love to hear that language whenever I can. To all those who have spoken of their own direct relationship to this terrible tragedy, I am the child of island parents, albeit Tyrie and not Lewis. My father was at sea all of his life, and from an early age my mother made us aware of just what risks his jobs brought and the joy and relief that it was for everyone at sea to reach safe haven. Islanders understood then and understand now the power of the elements to shape their lives, to shape their opportunities and their future. As a young woman, I began visiting the Isle of Lewis, and I say that it is an island of great warmth, generosity, humour and sense of community, even if it has, like many other places, a sad history. It was only when I started visiting the island that I learned of this terrible tragedy, despite its immensity, and despite my own great interest in the history of the islands and the islands of Scotland. Those who suffered did so within their families and communities, and that part of our history has been left largely unreported, and it is why this debate and the events surrounding Tyrie are so important. Sometimes we look at tragedy and say that it is hard to imagine what it felt like or what its impact was, but it is when we do start to imagine that horrors become overwhelming. Young men lost at sea. Not just young men lost at sea, but returning safe at the end of a war, but they must have suffered terribly and seen the brutality of war firsthand. Not just young men, but 201 souls returning to small communities where their loss wiped out a whole generation from within individual villages. Not just young men coming home, but coming home on 1 January to celebrate the new year, the only day of celebration in the whole year on the island in those days, and a day new year, which signified the importance of family and community, of mutual support, a time for reflection on the past, but also a time to look at prospects for the future. Young men are not lost on a foreign field, but as families gathered on Stornway Harbour to meet them, lost within the reach of safe haven, lost within sight of home, this tragedy is almost beyond words, and for many its consequences and impact went unspoken for generations. It is important to remember, but it is also to understand the importance of renewal, to do what we can to support fragile, remote, rural communities, to maintain optimism for the future, where migration from parts of Lewis reflected the pessimism that followed the tragedy. Small changes on small occasions or events on a national scale can have a catastrophic effect on small communities. In conclusion, I want to congratulate all those involved in marking the centenary for the sensitive, creative, thought-provoking and challenging events that they have produced. I want to highlight just one example, a moving example, a good symbol of all of this, and it is the Shinty match that is being organised to be held in Lewis on 1 January between the Lewis Shinty team and the team from Kinloch Shield Shinty Club, coming from the Kyle of Lochash, from which returning sailors departed for the last part of their journey. I have a particular family pride and connection to this event, but it seems to me to be a powerful symbol of what was lost. Young men, some of them Shinty players, lost their potential, denied their future, and the two young teams will play the game that was denied to them. In the renaissance of Shinty in recent years on the island, remembrance should also be renewal. The new generation of young islanders offered their respect for the past and their determination to be part of securing the cultural, sporting and economic future of the island that they love. That is a time of immense sadness when immense sadness is remembered, but it is also a time to recognise the strength of the human spirit in the darkest of times, as we are seeing in those communities, and the strength of those communities in renewing themselves. It should be a time of hope for the future, too. I thank Dr Allan for proposing this motion and giving the Parliament the opportunity to record our recognition ahead of the commemoration of the terrible tragedy. The fact that so many MSPs wanted to speak in this debate is testimony to that, and each and every one of them were very fine speeches indeed. I was particularly touched by Angus MacDonald's very personal story and Lewis MacDonald's personal reflections, and they gave us an insight into the sense of that continuing grief, a grief so silent for so long. Only last month we marked the centenary of the first armistice of the 11th of November 1918 and reflected on the emotions that would have been felt at the time, the joy that war was over, the grief for those who would never return, recognition that the world would never be the same and the uncertainty for the future, and the people of the western Isles would have felt all of this. Their losses had been amongst the heaviest in any community, with one in six of those who joined never returning. However, by Huckmanay 1918, the armistice had been signed, and some of the men from the Isles were on their way home. You can imagine those at home keeping an eye on the clock and mentally following the journey whilst preparing to welcome the homecomers. Poet Merdull MacFarlane, in last night the Isle air was wrecked, so beautifully describes the joy of a young woman in Lewis as she bakes in preparation for her sweet heart's return. Let me share you the first verse briefly in Gaelic with you. Le Crier Lansolish, eich hynny yw Lennan, haith i'ch yn eir fulla, chi'n gath i'ch i'ch chi'r ench, fair yn garari. This is a scene that would be taking place across the islands, so how cruel for so many that the welcome was denied. For those who did survive, how could they celebrate a return when so many had that celebration snatched away within the very sight of their homes? It is a small wonder that it was too painful to discuss, but life had to go on and it did, and although for many that life would be far away in Australia, Canada and New Zealand, yet more loss for the islands. The story of what happened to the Isle air has never been widely known outside the islands. For that reason, when I set up the Scottish World War I commemoration panel in 2013 and they set about the task of recommending which events would form the Scottish commemorative programme, there was a determination from the start to include the tragic loss of the Isle air. From the beginning of the commemorative period, the Isle commemoration was established as Scotland's last act of remembrance in the official World War I commemoration programme. It would not be the armistice because Scotland still had the anniversary of the Isle air to come. I quoted from a poem by Murdoff Arlen earlier, and over the years there have been a number of other poems and books highlighting the deep impacts that this tragedy had on the tight-knit island community. The land of the gales has always been renowned for its poetry and song, however, as the centenary has drawn closer and the full story emerges, innovative arts organisations are telling that story of what happened in moving and engaging ways. As part of the year of young people, schools across the islands have been working on the G-Lip project, which culminated in an evening of music and dance and drama and song dedicated to Isle air at the Nicholson Institute in Stornoway last week. Arts Centre in Lantern is delivering a range of events from talks to an exhibition of 100 portraits created over the past two years of sailors lost and saved in Isle air, and even, as we have heard, the animated film. 1418 now, the UK's official arts programme for the centenary of World War I commissioned two new suets of Gaelic music. Cwyn yw Ulura, Isle air elegy by Lewis Bourne Piper and composer Ian Morrison and Entressu Ulura, the third wave by Duncan Chisholm. He has worked with Julie Phyllis to create a piece that pays homage to John Finlay McLeod, who, as we have heard, swam the shore with a rope to create literally a lifeline, which saved 40 men. That is a truly remarkable story. BBC Scotland and BBC Alibah are producing a wide and varied range of programmes on television and radio around the centenary. The stunning new sculpture at the site of the memorial will be unveiled on the national commemorative event on 1 January. Situated within a few metres of the spot where the ship floundered, its simple design provides a fitting addition to the existing memorial and a moving spot at which to take a moment to contemplate the tragedy that unfolded on the rocks below. Prince Charles, who bears the ancient title of the Lord of the Isles, accompanied by the First Minister, will attend the service of commemoration on 1 January 2019, and he will also have the opportunity to speak with descendants of those lost and of those saved. Also happening on that date, a CalMac ferry, with around 500 local people on board, will sail out on the spot where the Isle air turned towards the rocks. A short service will be held on board before 201 schoolchildren each drop a single Carnation overboard, one for each man who died. Presiding Officer, there can be few stories more tragic than the that of the Isle air. The men on board would have been rousing themselves from sleep, closing books, pulling their belongings together—the things that we all do when we come to an end of a journey. Those waiting would be noting the time, possibly heading for the harbour if they lived in Stornoway. The end of that journey would have been, and should have been, a joyous occasion. 100 years on, it is right that the last act of the remembrance in the Scottish commemorative programme is the Isle air commemoration, as the impact on the tight-knit island community was beyond measure. However, as we have heard in this debate, this is a story and an impact that will continue with the people of those islands for a long time to come. We have had a privilege to play honour and tribute during this debate, but it is important and incumbent on us to make sure that their memory lives, that we have that renewal that has been spoken about in the debate. In 1 January 2019, I hope that we will all take a moment to reflect on the events 100 years ago that have left such a poignant legacy. That concludes the debate on the centenary of the Isle air disaster, and this meeting is suspended until 2 o'clock.