‘Matrix – the cultural, social or political environment in
which something develops.’
My first glimpse of Gearrannan Blackhouse Village on the Isle of Lewis was breathtaking, almost tearful. We were up a slight hill by the coast looking down on the cluster of thatched, shallow built stone cottages and a lane weaving through to the shore. It was idyllic. I imagined being settled there with all my family, away from the stresses and strains and everything I would like to escape from in the real world. Through my rose-tinted glasses we would have an endless supply of provisions and enough skills between us to look after each other. How cosy and warm it would be, by the fire, inside a cottage with its 3ft wide walls. I wondered what the attraction was to the original settlers. It’s windy on the Atlantic coast. Surrounding hills offered some, but not much shelter. As I remember, the last inhabitants were re-housed as recently as the early 1970s. The cottages are renovated and well maintained. One is now a café and gift shop, two or three are museums showing visitors like us how people lived. More like how they survived. The other cottages are holiday accommodation. The revenue helps with the up-keep and nothing has been spoiled. There is running water and electricity. The village is perfectly saved for the likes of us to have a tangible insight into life through the ages, and on-going with the successful holiday lets. From an early settlement it has developed into the modern world and continues to be a conservation area. Perhaps I’ll have an opportunity to stay there and live my dream for a moment.
Matrix – ‘Something, such as a situation or a set of conditions, in which something else develops or forms the complex social matrix in which people live their lives.’
I found this, by Amy Lowell:
The Matrix
That tears our life up into bits of days
Ticked off upon a clock which never stays,
Shredding our portion of Eternity,
We break away at last, and steal the key
Which hides a world empty of hours; ways
Of space unroll, and Heaven overlays
The leafy, sun-lit earth of Fantasy.
Beyond the ilex shadow glares the sun,
Scorching against the blue flame of the sky.
Brown lily-pads lie heavy and supine
Within a granite basin, under one
The bronze-gold glimmer of a carp; and I
Reach out my hand and pluck a nectarine.
Amy Lowell 1874 – 1925
Thanks for reading, Pam x
3 comments:
Thank you - I I enjoyed this, bringing back memories of the times we spent on Barra in The Outer Hebrides. Lovely in summer, harsh in winter, and with all creature comforts other than no tv, internet and radio in a tiny corner of our croft cottage - very much detaching from today's electronic matrix. But a 100 years ago? i suspect it was an exercise in periodic starvation as much as survival.
Thanks again
What a fascinating place. I had never heard of it. It's now on my list of places to see so thank you for that.
What a clever interpretation of Matrix.
I have to say that I have no idea how people could live in such a place.
I'll have to read some of Amy Lowells poetry.
Fascinating, Pam. GBV is new to me but it sounds well worth a visit; and great that it has found a niche in the 21st century that ensures its survival. Amy Lowell's Matrix poem works really well.
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