The Life and Death of St Kilda

Tom Steel

St Kilda was the Pitcairn Island of its day. At times, reading this history, I thought of Dea Birkett's account of her stay in Pitcairn. Where does our fascination with remote and isolated communities come from? It seems we cannot decide whether we pity them or envy them.

Tom Steel's history of St Kilda reveals the story of this most extreme edge of the British Isles. Permanent inhabitation ended in 1930 with the evacuation of its remaining 36 inhabitants. With its population in decline (largely due to spectacular levels of tetanus infantum) throughout the 19th century the island was no longer viable. Steel nevertheless invites us to believe the island had been relatively prosperous in its heyday. If a diet consisting largely of the eggs and flesh of puffins and fulmars appeals, as does a regime of oppressive and joyless religious observance, then I'm sure it was a pleasant enough place.

Steel's account includes the sorry story of the aftermath of the 1930 evacuation. Instead of being kept together the St Kildans were dispersed throughout the highlands and islands and they adapted poorly to mainland life. The able bodied men were thought to be suited to outdoor work and were put to work in the Scottish Forestry Commission. Most of them had never seen a tree before in their lives.

Poor St Kilda. "It is not one of the rich or indispensable outposts of our island kingdom, but St Kilda has an established place in the romance of our history". So wrote The Scotsman newspaper 75 years ago; as good an epitaph as any.