FINLAGGAN: it was cooncil headquarters. Not that they did much aboot emptying the bins or filling in potholes.

But they ruled a vast land, stretching at various times from the Glens of Antrim to Rosshire, over even to Buchan and the Mearns, and south to Greenan in Ayrshire. 

Probably stretching a point there, as the Hebrides were really their thing, but you get the drift: they were big medieval players.

“Who they?” you say. They were the Council of the Lord of the Isles, MacDonalds running their own fiefdom, if that is the mot juste, beyond the control of the kings of Scotland and Norway. 

Their Finlaggan HQ is to be found at the heart of Islay, a low-lying, fertile island, southernmost of the Inner Hebrides.

From memory of visiting many years ago, Finlaggan is a peaceful, sheltered, atmospheric place, with mountains in the distance and the physical, manmade, historical locus on a loch fringed by reeds waving gently in the breeze. 

Think I’d had a couple of drams, mind. (Well, it was Islay).

I recall my chauffeur, as we important reporters called photographers, taking us out of Ballygrant towards Port Askaig, then up a single-track road a good way through farmland, before a bit of a walk until we stood on the shore looking at two islets joined to the land. 

On these were ruins no bigger than outbuildings in which today you’d store your lawnmower, barbecue and those 1970s cassettes you promised the missus you’d throw out.

Today, there’s a walkway and a visitor centre run by the Finlaggan Trust. If the centre’s closed, you can put money in an honesty box. 
If it’s open, and the ground’s wet underfoot, you can borrow wellies to save your high heels.

As for the historic ruins, this once massively important power base sounds right wee, I know, but I’ve said before that, back in the day, warrior bands and whatnot were no bigger than gangs of football casuals.

Hugh the hell?
And the point about Finlaggan is that it wasn’t for every Thomas, Richard or Harold to swan about in, but for their council representatives (unelected), up to 16 of them according to 17th-century historian Hugh MacDonald, who started counting “four Thanes, four Armins, that is to say Lords or Sub-Thanes, four B******s …” 

Say what, now? Don’t tell us the Greens were represented on the cooncil back then tae? No, Shuggie means “Squires, or men of competent estates”. Yes, always preferable to the incompetent ones.

They sat round a stone table, adjudicating on controversies and appeals, by which, say their cheerleaders, they kept peace and order throughout the land. 

“But why Finlaggan, like, ken, eh?” you ask. That is a good question, well put, particularly when you consider this was a sea kingdom and Finlaggan’s in the middle of an island. 

But you could still park your galley just up the road a bit.

And, besides, this had been a significant site since ancient times. Stone and Iron Age remains have been uncovered while in the 6th century, St Findlugan, from whom the place name derives, set up a chapel and proceeded to preach the Holy Nonsense. 

Monastic settlements followed and, out of the Dark Age mists, these attracted satanic Norsemen pitting themselves heroically against unarmed pacifist clerics.

Some Norsemen settled down to become decent ratepayers, and locals adapted their longships for galleys, in due course making smaller, more manoeuvrable “nyvaigs”, 80 of which Somerled deployed on January 6, 1156, to blooter the remaining Viking Norse back to Hell or Norway. 

Oh, the irony. Talk about hoist by your own petard.

Somerled begat Ranald who begat Donald, whose descendants inherited Islay and became the dominant lineage. 

Their rule lasted until they started getting involved in aggro with the Scottish crown. 

In 1493, they were given their jotters by James IV, who administered the territory via that traditional scourge of Scotland, a factor or tenant-in-chief.

The Herald:  

Isle be damned
THE title Lord of the Isles fell to the Crown and is now held by the present Prince of Wales. Unfortunately, at the time of going to press, we can’t remember who that is.

The buildings at Finlaggan fell into ruin, so what are we looking at today? Well, Loch Finlaggan has three islands, and it’s the two nearest the northern shore that concern us: Eilean Mòr (“Large Island”) and Eilean na Comhairle (“Council Island”, and originally a Stone Age crannog). 

About 55 yards apart, they were once connected by a stone causeway, much of which can still be seen beneath the surface of the water.

Various remains are to be found on the islands, including a 13th-century castle, fortifications, a great hall (as opposed to a rubbish hall), kitchens, living quarters, and a chapel.
Archaeological investigations have also revealed a network of cobbled roads and paths.

Several tombstones have been discovered on the site, most notably a splendid specimen bearing an effigy of Domhnall Mac Gilleasbuig, crown tenant of Finlaggan during the 1540s, with a right big sword and wearing what looks like a dress but is an aketon or quilted overgarment. Bound to come back into fashion soon.

Other carved graveslabs support the view that, during the Lordship, only wives and children of were buried on Eilean Mòr, while the Lords themselves were interred in Iona.

Land time forgot
AT Finlaggan today, while the imagination can conjure up an atmosphere, it’s difficult to appreciate the importance of such a small place, open to the winds and rain, no longer the venue for deliberation and debate, for feasting and music.

Dr David Caldwell, who has carried out excavations at the site and is author of Islay: The Land Of The Lordship, described the bitter-sweet legacy in an article for the Scottish Society for Northern Studies: “When the lords were in residence on Eilean Mòr – for council meetings and inauguration ceremonies – Finlaggan must have been swarming with visitors, chiefs, and dignitaries from the vast MacDonald lands. 

“Nowadays, it is more often a quiet and peaceful place, but one redolent of its long and eventful past.”