The
Laird o' Clestrain
Over
200 years ago, there lived a good man named William Honyman, the Laird
of Graemsay.
The
Laird lived at Clestrain, on the border between the Orkney
Mainland parishes of Orphir and
Stenness. Clestrain
was a beautiful place where he could gaze across the blue sea to his little green
island of Graemsay.
Now, this Laird had a considerable amount of money, but, nevertheless, supplemented
his income by trading. If some of the local gossips in Stromness
were to be believed, he also had his hand in some smuggling. Each
summer, after the seed had been safely planted, the Laird would load a large boat
with meal, whereupon he would make his way around the north-west tip of Scotland
to the islands of the Hebrides. One particular voyage,
in the year 1758, caused some bickering between the Laird and his wife. Honyman
wanted his eldest son, Mungo, to accompany him on that year's trading expedition.
The Laird's wife, Mary Honyman, was set against the idea,
considering that her boy was too young to make the potentially hazardous trip. But
the Laird was a forceful man and eventually his wife bowed down to his wishes.
Smiling because he had once again got his own way, the Laird busied himself making
his arrangements for the long-awaited voyage. Just before
boarding the waiting ship, the Laird, with the help of his personal servant, an
islander named John, carried a box of valuables up the hillside. Once out of sight
of prying eyes, the men set to burying the box, taking care to note the landmarks
surrounding the hole so that they might return to it easily. The
box contained a large sum of money, some fine pieces of family jewellery, and
a bag of Spanish dollars. Honyman tramped back down the
hill and stopping by his house, instructed his wife to keep careful watch over
the old turf boundary dyke that ran along the lower slopes of the hill. Once satisfied
she would do his bidding, he headed to his ship and completed loading her.
Hoisting the billowing sails, he took on board his son, Mungo, and his the servant,
John. On the evening tide, the Laird's ship slid proudly from the sheltered waters
of Hamnavoe. Aided by a fair wind, the heavily-laden vessel
was soon passing through Hoy Sound and out into the glistening Atlantic.
Three months passed and no news of the boat came back to Clestrain.
Then, one evening in late August, when the golden summer sunlight washed across
the land and sea, the Laird's boat was seen sailing homewards through Clestrain
Sound. Hurried on by an eager Mary Honyman, the servants
scurried to the beach to carry ashore the expected cargo. They noticed then that
there were three people standing on deck and that the Laird stood proudly at the
helm. Slicing swiftly through the glassy water, the ship
sped towards its anchorage. As she approached the land, she grew larger and larger,
her size emphasised by the rapidly failing light. Then,
just as she reached her accustomed moorings, the servants shrieked and pointed
with wide-eyes. The ship had faded away, just as a shadow swallowed by sunlight.
For half a heartbeat, a ghostly-faint shape remained,
then blinked into oblivion. Where once was sail and rigging was now only sea gulls
soaring in the warm evening air. The appearance of the
phantom boat had terrible effect on Mary Honyman. Distraught at losing her beloved
son and husband, she died soon afterwards. Her friends
declared that she remained ever faithful to her husband's last instructions for
a sorrowful lady, clad in a long white dress, could often be seen walking in the
vicinity of the boundary dyke where the Laird's treasure was said to be buried.
During the century that followed Mary Honyman's death
her pale ghost was frequently seen. And as for the Laird
and his son? The unfortunate news arrived at last, informing
the shocked islanders that the ship had sunk in the Pentland Firth and all hands
had gone to a watery grave. As was only to be expected,
the rumour of buried treasure soon spread. Excited islanders, lured by the prospect
of instant wealth, assailed the hillside, digging in all the likely places along
the line of the dyke. One tale tells us that once a young
man dreamed of the treasure night after night, until he was convinced that he
had somehow been directed to find it. Setting out to find
the Laird's treasure, the man arrived on the hill and began digging. Late in the
evening, he looked up from where he was digging and saw to his horror that a silent
lady in black was approaching. The young man paid the
ghostly visitor no heed but instead continued with his work - such was the attraction
of wealth. The next time he looked up, a sad, very sweet-looking, lady in white
was standing close by him. Whether the man found the
treasure, I do not know. What I do know is that on certain
evenings, as the light began to fail, many islanders declared solemnly that at
the landing-slip below the Laird's grain store, they could clearly distinguish
the ghostly figures of the Laird and his servants, working busily with their boats. |