What we know of the people of Galtrigill comes in fragments: a name in an old record, a family history carried across the world, a memory shared by someone who once lived here. Some leave us with little more than a name; others unfold into stories. Come and meet a few of them.
Geoff Fellows - A Crofter´s Memories of Galtrigill in the 1990s
One of the unexpected pleasures of creating this website has been discovering how a place can reconnect people. Through these pages, we found Geoff, who lived in Galtrigill in the 1990s. He got in touch after coming across the website and has kindly shared his own memories of the place and the time he spent here.
What follows is Galtrigill as Geoff remembers it, in his own words:
My (then) wife, Allison and I bought the freehold of the cottage and garden ground at number 6, Galtrigill in late 1988 for £40.000, but we had connections with Skye well before that. I had moved to Skye from Kent in the 1970’s. I worked initially as an inshore fisherman with my own boat, then a lorry driver and then latterly (from 1976) Allison and I were joint managers of the Harlosh Hotel on the Harlosh peninsula. We had married a year earlier. The hotel itself was owned by the Macleod Estate at that time. We moved back to England in 1979 (having run out of money!) but we were always keen to maintain our Skye connections and it was our intention then to move back to the Island when we retired. We bought number 6, Galtrigill with that in mind. The previous owners had become involved in an ill-tempered divorce and the house at number 6 was a half-finished and abandoned project as a result. The shell of the building was complete and weather-tight with new Velux windows in the roof and good quality windows and doors, but the interior was bare and in some cases damaged by a large dog which had been confined to the house for long periods. Having bought the house we set about furnishing it. We had a new kitchen fitted, we installed an oil-fired Rayburn AGA-type stove and we knocked down an internal wall in the main living room which had divided a room at the rear from the living room at the front. There was a lot of brown wood panelling on the walls downstairs but this was an original feature and so we kept it, even though it made the interior of the rooms rather dark. We also had a large round green plastic oil tank installed. The ground under the garden was solid basalt, of course, and so installing the tank underground was not an option, unfortunately. We also fenced and gated the garden ground around the house and we partly re-roofed the large byre which was part of the freehold. The picture is of me sitting on top of the byre and admiring the view on what was obviously a very fine day. Of course the obligatory Red More cigarette was clamped between my teeth. What a fine image this is of a sprightly young highland landowner surveying his estate. We had a number of neighbours in houses and cottages along the road in Galtrigill. Nearest to us at number 5 there lived a young English couple, and the mother and father of the male partner living there lived on the opposite side of the road – that is the seaward side – at number 4. I recall that he was a retired fireman from Yorkshire called Ernest. They grew vegetables and they kept goats for milking. Whenever we were staying at Galtrigill we always had goat’s milk from Ernest rather than buying any cow’s milk. He was a pleasant and relaxed chap. If it was ever suggested to him that something needed doing in a hurry he would always say, “Well, there’s a whole day tomorrer not broke into yet!”. Next down the road towards Duvegan there was a house perched above the road on the landward side occupied by a family called “Jones” and a little further along the road but on the seaward side was the cottage of Effie MacSween, an elderly, spry, entertaining and engaging Gaelic-speaking lady who was great fun to visit and to spend time with. I believe she was born in the same cottage. At that time the croft land associated with number 6 was separately owned and was under “crofting tenure”, which meant, in effect, that it could only be sold to people who were resident on Skye or who intended to be in the foreseeable future, and who already had connections with the island. We didn’t consider ourselves eligible at that stage. However, in the early 1990’s a very fine piece of croft land, number 9, Galtrigill, complete with the gill and the Manners Stone and various black house ruins, came on the market and we applied to buy the crofting tenure. Happily the Crofter’s Commission agreed that we were now sufficiently committed to Skye and they agreed to our purchase. We fenced it completely (at considerable expense) and we also divided it into two fields so that it could be rested in rotation. In Skye terms the quality of the grazing was very fine, and so we then gave the grazing rights to friends of ours, Sonia Bidwell and her husband. They lived in nearby Borreraig and kept rare breed sheep; I believe they were Soay sheep. We also got the renowned local artist, Marion Roberts, to paint number 9 and the view of the loch for us. We still have this fine picture and it now hangs proudly in our house in Flore, Northamptonshire. Incidentally, the man we bought the land from was a local shepherd. He lived at Borreraig as did the Bidwells. Shortly before he sold us the croft he had been disqualified from driving for three years, and so he decided to sell his old and very mucky, muddy car. He had a fenced area around his house where he kept his rams in order to keep them away from the sheep outside the ‘tupping’ season. He parked his car beside the house and washed it preparatory to selling it. I don’t think he had ever washed it before. Then he went up the hill to tend his sheep. Whilst he was away the rams had a good look at the clean and polished car and saw, looking out at them, ALIEN INTRUDER RAMS!! They set about head-butting these uninvited strangers off their land, and by the time they had finished the car didn’t have a single straight panel on it anywhere. The same man also owned the crofting tenure of the croft land at number 6 which had some time ago been separated from the freehold house. This was much poorer grazing land than that at number 9, but it ran all the way from the house down to the cliffs above the sea and so we bought that croft land too. The land at number 6 has a fold in it halfway between the house and the sea, and the land below the fold was relatively sheltered. We decided to fence this (including making it proof against rabbits) and we got a local woodsman and well-known gardener, Kevin Sutton, to plant hundreds of native species of tree within the fenced area. I was delighted to find that in 2026 Kevin was still living at Dunvegan and still involved with trees and gardening. So what was it that Allison and I were seeking, and which we found at Galtrigill? Well, first of all Galtrigill is very quiet indeed. One doesn’t visit Skye, or go to live there, in order to be surrounded by crowds and traffic. Rather the opposite. That peaceful rural tranquillity is certainly to be found at remote and wild Galtrigill. For us a great view of the sea was important too. I know a number of dwellings on Skye from which there is no view at all other than a rocky bank, perhaps, and that was not what we wanted. The lush green grass, especially on crofts 8 and 9, stretches away towards the loch in an exciting and inviting way, framing Stein, Isay, Mingay and Clett, Waternish Head and the low hills beyond – enchanting in all weathers. Then there are all the ruins of black houses on the land, together with the manners stone and the old fish salting house down by the shore, all reminiscent of past times, however hard, and also the hut circles out on the peninsula, a reminder of even harder Bronze age times, and the wild and open countryside five minutes walk away from the front door of number 6. I ceased being involved with Galtrigill when Allison and I went our separate ways in 1998, but I have many happy memories of visiting, working on the house and grounds, and dinner parties with friends and neighbours throughout most of the 1990’s. I have revisited Galtrigill several times since 1998. The last time was in 2024, and I was delighted to see that our tree planting has been successful, and there is now a semi-mature patch of woodland on what is otherwise a largely treeless part of Skye. I was equally delighted to see that the house at number 6 had been beautifully decorated and maintained in the best of taste, and a fine conservatory had been added to it. A big thank you to the current owners for caring so well for a place which means a great deal to me. Geoff Fellows.
Donald MacLeod meeting Prince Charles Edward Stuart after the Battle of Culloden
Drawn by A. Carse, engraved by R. Scott
Donald MacLeod of Galtrigill – Helmsman of a Fading World
In the summer of 1746, Donald MacLeod of Galtrigill, an educated gentleman farmer in his early sixties, made a decision that defied his chief, his government, and the shifting loyalties of the Highlands. Donald lived with his wife Catherine and children on land located beside the “Manners Stone” in Galtrigill as a tacksman, a position of trust and influence within the clan structure. He managed tenancies, led families, and was expected—by blood and duty—to fight for his chief. But Norman MacLeod, 22nd Chief of Clan MacLeod, had pledged allegiance to the British government. He raised troops to fight against the Jacobite cause and later became infamous for attempting to transport over a hundred of his own tenants to the colonies as indentured servants—without their knowledge. This act of betrayal earned him the name “The Wicked Man.” Donald refused to follow the orders of his Clan Chief who did not want to support Bonnie Prince Charlie. Instead, Donald offered the prince his boat, his loyalty, and his life. Donald’s refusal was not rebellion. It was allegiance to a deeper code: to the land, to its people, and to a sense of honour that could not survive under the weight of power without principle. The journey was arduous. Through storm-tossed waters and hostile shores, Donald navigated the prince across the Hebrides and Skye. They travelled by night, hid among the kelp, and rowed through tides thick with betrayal. When the prince finally reached relative safety, Donald was captured. He was imprisoned, interrogated, and sent to the Tower of London. He stood before the machinery of imperial justice not as a rebel, but as a man who had kept his word. After months in captivity, he was eventually released—ill, unbroken but changed. Donald MacLeod’s loyalty stood in contrast – not only to his chief, but to the shifting ground beneath Highland life. What he returned to was not the Galtrigill he had left. The old codes of honour, kinship, and duty were fading. The land remained, but the bonds that held it together had begun to loosen. He ferried a prince, defied a chief, and returned to a world that no longer recognised the kind of man he had been. Donald died in Galtrigill in September 1749. At Galtrigill, among the alder and aspen trees, lies a ruin believed to be his former house. Its walls are low now, but still solid. No plaque marks the place. No tour has mentioned his name. But the story remains.
Angus Fergusone (Aonghas MacFhearghais)
Galtrigill, 1683
He appears first in the rent roll of 1683:
Angus Fergusone – 45 merks.
No title, no detail, no place of birth, only his name, and the sum he owed.
45 merks made him the highest-paying tenant in Galtrigill that year.
He likely held more land than the others, he may have sublet part of it, collected rents, or grazed more cattle. That much can be said.
Nothing else remains, no kirk entry, no gravestone, no remembered line.
But his name stood at the top of the list
and in the layered silence of Galtrigill, it still does.
Source: Rent Roll of MacLeod’s Estate, Galtrigill, 1683 (Western Isles Archive)
Norman MacLeod Galtrigill, ca. 1820–1873
He was born in Galtrigill around 1820, his name appears in the 1851 census. He married Christina MacLeod of Trumpan, had children and died in 1873. No testimony, no headline, no monument but his name remains.
Source: 1851 Census of Scotland; Family records via RootsChat
Iain mac Shùisinn mhic Dhonnchaidh
Galtrigill, 1683
He owed the same as Angus Fergusone – 45 merks.
That placed him among the top two tenants in Galtrigill.
His name tells a story of lineage:
John, son of Suishnish, son of Duncan. A man not known by place, but by people.
The roll preserves the line, but not the land.
No record of where he lived, no trace of what he tended.
Only that he mattered enough to be counted, and that his name – even in fragments – survives.
Source: Rent Roll of MacLeod’s Estate, Galtrigill, 1683 (Western Isles Archive)
Dòmhnall mac Raghnaill
Galtrigill, 1683
His name is simple:
Donald, son of Ronald, 22 merks. Not a man of status, not the poorest, either.
He paid what he could perhaps for a narrow strip of land near the shore.
Enough for hunger to visit often.
There is no record of a wife, no mention of children,
but someone carried that name and walked that ground.
He may have stood with the others, when rent was collected, or waited behind.
We don´t know -his name still fits this place.
Source: Rent Roll of MacLeod’s Estate, Galtrigill, 1683 (Western Isles Archive)
Everyday Life in Galtrigill (17th–18th Century)
Work and Survival
Galtrigill’s people worked with what the land and sea allowed. The tacksman let off part of his holding to groups of sub-tenants and each tenant held about a farthingland. Tracksmen and sub-tenants employed further helper (lesser folk) with duties like protecting unfecend crops, herding the cattle, repairing fences. In Galtrigill there were usually 10 other men to one tenant.
Most households grew potatoes and root vegetables in narrow rigs close to their homes. Before the 18th century, oats and kail were common. Cattle were few – a cow, maybe two, for milk. Sheep grazed higher up the slopes, shared between families.
Fishing was essential. Lines were dropped close to shore, and boats were launched when weather allowed. Fish was eaten fresh when possible – but much of it was salted. A salt house once stood here, likely used to preserve herring or whitefish for storage or trade.
Settlement and Rhythm
The township was small, afew stone houses, turf-roofed and low. Floors were beaten earth; smoke rose without a chimney. Families lived close together – people and animals often under one roof.
There was no school in Galtrigill, and no church. Children worked young, helping on land or at sea.
Tenants paid rent to the MacLeod estate, sometimes in fish, sometimes in labour. Few left written records. Fewer still owned land.
After the Rising
After the Jacobite defeat in 1746, life in places like Galtrigill grew harder. The Disarming Acts and land reforms weakened traditional clan structures. Larger-scale cattle holdings were discouraged or redirected toward estate profit. Some tenants lost grazing rights or were moved inland.
Most households kept only what they could feed: a single cow, a few hens.The sea remained the more stable provider.
Change and Departure
By the end of the 18th century, pressure increased. Land was divided, crofts shrank. Some left, some were moved, some remained. Their lives were not recorded but their work, their choices, and their names remain – in field patterns, ruin walls, and a salt house by the sea.
The Long Nineteenth Century
In the 19th century, Galtrigill, like many Highland communities, faced a quiet undoing. The landlord expanded sheep farming, forcing families off fertile ground and into harsher corners. Some left under pressure, others were cleared outright.
Some families from Galtrigill were resettled at Boreraig. The crofts were smaller, the soil poor, and the land exposed. Few could make a living. Over time, many left again – to other parts of Skye, to the mainland, or overseas.
The Napier Commission of 1883 heard their voices – including testimony from Galtrigill – describing lost grazing, dwindling catches, and rising rents. Trawlers from Barra emptied the seas, so fishing no longer provided a reliable income. The old balance broke. Still, those who stayed carved out a life – in the lee of the stone walls they built, in the names they passed down, in the stubborn rhythm of croft and tide.