"There is something in the very name of St. Kilda, which excites expectation. Remote and solitary, the spirit of romance appears still to dwell in the clouds and storms that separate this narrow spot from the world." From "The Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland" in letters to Sir Walter Scott by John MacCulloch (1824).
Jonathan Mills is to be congratulated for the initiative in inviting this ambitious, awesome multi media production to the Edinburgh Festival opera stage. In the year of Homecoming, it's a time for celebrating and preserving our rich social heritage, especially the indigenous life and language of the Highlands and Islands. The very name St. Kilda - and this opera - means so much more to me having visited this remote island a few weeks ago.
Shortly after dawn on 24th June, 2009, the Hebridean Princess is approaching the archipelago of St. Kilda, 110 miles west off mainland Scotland in the North Atlantic. I join a few dozen other guests on the Bridge deck to view in utter amazement the surreal Sea Stacs and majestic mountain peaks towering above the ocean; overhead the whirl and clamour of thousands of gannets nesting high on the rocky cliffs.
The sea is calm as the Princess sails at a gentle pace between the jagged giant shapes of Boreray and Stac an Armin (643 ft) to anchor in Village Bay off Hirta, the main island. We are so fortunate fine weather allows the tender boats ashore, as wild wind and sea can often prevent a safe landing.
After 4,000 years of human survival, in 1930 the last 36 residents of this crofting community were willingly evacuated to the mainland. Touring the deserted village, we learn about island life, the fact that they never fished for food, with seabirds as their main diet, eating 115 fulmars a year, and boiled puffin with porridge was a delicacy. For centuries they lived a self sufficient lifestyle, scaling cliffs with their legendary long toes to catch the birds for food, feathers, oil and to make shoes. A religious, democratic community, with a church and school, they held a parliament meeting every morning in the village street.
St. Kilda: Island of the Birdman is a collaboration between a Belgian/French company, the Gaelic arts agency, composers, musicians, film makers, actors, acrobats, choreographer and singers. The narrator John begins the story of the island community while a film, on two huge screens, takes us on a journey by boat approaching the sea stacs of St. Kilda with the sound of the pounding waves. Through eloquent contemporary and archive film footage, Gaelic song, an operatic chorus, atmospheric music and rope climbing acrobats, the islanders' life is dramatised.
There are extraordinary film sequences of dancing "birdmen" actually abseiling the sheer cliffs, later echoed by stage acrobats in shadowy silhouette against the island seascape on screen. The interwoven text and musical narrative, in English, French and Gaelic, relates the emotional tales of young lovers and tragic death through accident and disease. (Unfortunately, there was no conventional use of surtitles to translate the Gaelic and French, so that the very heart of the poetry is occasionally lost).
Finally to the question, Why did they leave? .... The answer is they had no choice, they were living on a knife edge. And so our musical journey to St. Kilda nears its end as we view a flickering vintage 1930 film of the last islanders carrying their bundled possessions down to the jetty to board the last boat - the women hiding their faces from the camera's stare.
Despite the language barrier, this is an inspiring, heartbreaking elegy to the memory of the St. Kildans and their passionate, human fight for survival. Epic in imagination and visual imagery, the musical spirit captures the rolling sea waves and sense of lingering ghosts of this wilderness island which time forgot. Just like my travels to St. Kilda this summer, this opera will be unforgettable.
Times: 15-17 August, 8pm
Read Barnaby Miln's St Kilda: Island of the Birdmen Review