Time Team
Whispers of Whisky on the Loch
It's the debtors' prison for me if they catch me, but the farming's hard and there's not a mill or a smithie that won't welcome me at their dram house.
They say we make the best whisky, us lassies, but all I know is a woman with her long cloak and skirts can leave a coppersmith's and even the excise man wouldn't give her a second glance. The lads with a sack heaved over their shoulder have a fine trouble making their way home with a still.
Back on our island it's bere we use as a type of barley for making the precious liquid that not a home in Scotland can do without. I've heard it said that the likes of us are 'mad for converting our bread into poison', and when the grain's short it's difficult to argue. But the industry is booming, since the English passed their excise act in 1788 making every one of us illegal; there's never been a better time for whisky making.
They've tried many a time to catch us and jail us, but throughout this loch and beyond we have our own wee system of signals that means never will the excise man appear unannounced. Together we defend this business of ours, over which they have no rights either of tax or prohibition.
I've known a band of crofters and fishermen to see off a whole crew of Revenue men, carrying off their oars and tackle before setting the scoundrels adrift in their own boats. They've even tried to turn us one against the other offering a £5 bribe for evidence of an illicit still.
It's an ingenious scheme and has come in handy for me in the past. Not that I'd ever hand over a neighbour to those strangers, you can be sure, but when my precious copper coil, without which there'd be no distilling, is wearing out, then the reward comes in handy for a replacement.
All I need to do to get the money out of those fools is simply leave my old coil badly hidden some part, and tell the excise folk where to find it. If they ever get a sniff of distilling on our island they'll find it's a game of hide and seek, and one they can never win. Working together makes light of the whisky making and has us move the still from house to house with the greatest of ease.
Neighbour alongside neighbour in this business works from the very start of our process with the growing of the bere for 10 to 15 weeks. It's an easy crop that will thrive in any soil, but with the whole whisky thing being against their laws, the malting can be hard graft. We've to steep the grain in ponds and puddles before spreading it hidden in the island caves to germinate.
Much of it spoils, but three to four weeks later the final distillation is complete, and the fruits of our labour are ready for drinking either here in our homes, in the local dram houses or to be smuggled across the hills to the thirsty folk of Glasgow.
And as long as there's folk who'll pay a good price for it, I'll be working at my still, making some of the best whisky in Scotland, unless of course they catch me. I'd like to see them try!