Anyone who has shared the experience of growing up on one of Scotland's islands will know that, in one way or another, CalMac ferries are never far from your mind, regardless of where you have chosen to settle.
Childhood memories take me straight back to the queue for chips at the Mariners Cafe, hours spent sprawled across the stiff seats of the observation deck or stifling a fit of mean-spirited giggling as my older sister’s fear of sailing kicked in each time the boat pulled away from the Lochmaddy pier.
Ferries meant the start of school holidays and family trips, the latter of which every so often thrown into doubt by a reservation made too late and a painfully early wake-up call to secure a spot in the waiting list queue.
Even with no journey planned, the boats made their presence known throughout the island when like clockwork a stream of slow-moving ‘ferry traffic’ would begin to snake through single-track roads in a mismatched convoy of produce lorries, campervans and cars.
This daily phenomenon would more than once prompt an outburst of muttered cursing from whichever grandparent found themselves in the driving seat of their boxy old Toyota which was now trapped in a passing place during an ill-timed trip to the Berneray shop for the papers.
READ MORE: 'Politics gets in way of island survival': Anger as SNP blocks ferry fiasco fund vote
Later, ferries became a welcome ticket to freedom, providing passage to Uig where a banana-hued Citylink bus sat waiting patiently for those booked to make the expedition to Inverness or Glasgow.
For an angsty teenager who was starting to grow tired of the peace and tranquillity of their Hebridean home, the promised land of shopping centres, cinemas and Starbucks seemed far more alluring.
It wasn’t until moving to Glasgow for good that it occurred to me just how unusual it was to live a life that had been so closely tethered to the comings and goings of these ageing vessels.
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A bemused look from a new college classmate after referring to his city as the ‘mainland’ suddenly made it very clear that, for most, a ferry journey was a rare novelty rather than the welcome assurance that no matter what, there was always a way home.
Years later, I experience the same, almost surreal feeling while walking past newspapers splashed with photos of the now sorry-looking CalMac fleet as they continue to create a national talking point.
READ MORE: CalMac ferry crisis: Colonsay residents say community 'dying'
The boats are no longer a steadfast cog in the wheel of island life, but a sad symbol of a lack of empathy shown for the needs of communities who are suffering daily as a result of cancelled sailings and revised routes.
Having spent the last decade falling in love with every aspect of city living, I won’t begin to pretend that I fully understand the impact the ferry crisis is having on islanders or claim to be any sort of spokesperson for them.
That’s not my place.
What I can speak of in absolute certainty, however, are the social media posts from former school friends as they continue to make passionate pleas to the Scottish Government and Transport Scotland for support with no avail.
There are the photos too, shared to group chats from weary family members who have stopped by the shops for fresh dinner ingredients only to be greeted once more with the sorry sight of near-empty shelves.
And, worst of all, there’s the anxious voice of my subconscious that whispers with building intensity that if a loved one falls ill or suffers an accident, a swift journey home is no longer guaranteed.
A tired narrative often worms its way into stories written about island life from an outside perspective, suggesting that these conditions are a consequence of choosing a remote dwelling place, and should therefore be accepted without protest.
Overenthusiastic writers are quick to wax lyrical about the barren landscapes, harsh winters and an inevitably declining population which clings desperately to an antiquated way of life, crofters crook or housewife’s apron in hand.
These poetic notions are not only dancing dangerously close to patronising, they’re simply not accurate.
Scotland’s islands are not beauty spots lying in wait to be discovered during tourist season, but home to populations of innovative and resilient people who take immense pride in communities that continue to evolve every day in line with the rest of the country.
This is no more evident than in a thriving Food and Drink scene which boasts globally recognised distilleries, unique commodities and business owners who know exactly what it takes to navigate the specific challenges of working away from the mainland.
The very least they should be offered in return for all of this is the maintenance of a regular ferry service which their livelihoods depend on.
Instead, as we barrel into what should be a prosperous summer season free from the shadow of covid, they are faced with unimaginable losses of income and personal hardships as CalMac flounders.
The Herald has so far been diligent in covering the ferry crisis, but in my new role as Food & Drink writer, it felt time to put the stories of those within the industry who are fighting for survival front and centre.
When discussing how best to tackle what I hope will be an ongoing, Scotland-wide series, my childhood home seemed a fitting starting point thanks to the recent Lochboisdale demonstration which served as a powerful reminder of the community's fighting spirit.
Over the next three days, we’ll bring you the stories from across the islands of North Uist, Benbecula and South Uist as business owners share stark and honest accounts of the difficulties they are facing while the debate over who is to blame rages on in the headlines.
READ MORE: Ministers under fire over blaming CalMac for new island ferry chaos
Make no mistake. This is not a chance to roll out the cliched promise to ‘give a voice to’ islanders.
They already have voices. Hundreds and thousands of dignified, and rightfully furious voices from the Butt of Lewis to Brodick that deserve so much more than to be ignored by those who see ferries as an excuse for political squabbling.
It’s a privilege to use space in these pages to turn up the volume.
I hope that those with the power to make a change are ready to listen.
If your food and drink business has been affected by the ongoing ferry crisis, and you would like to discuss the issue, please don’t hesitate to contact sarah.campbell@newsquest.co.uk.
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