The Ghosts of Inverailort
An abandoned Scottish mansion, and a sight I can't explain
No cosy glow seeps from the windows of Inverailort House. Instead, a cold emptiness draws your attention through its broken glass into the darkness of the gaping interior.
There’s a kind of wrongness about it. In the Nineties, “the whole place moved with cats,” writes one Country Life columnist who was lucky enough to see inside during its dying days as a residence. “There were rarely fewer than 20 guests in the house, including Conservative cabinet ministers, left-wing land reformers, crofters, playwrights, television presenters and the occasional Russian prince.”
By the time of his visit, the writing was on the wall. “Upstairs, drips plipped and plopped into a variety of buckets and chamber-pots, ringing a symphonic accompaniment to decay. The kitchen had burnt down and been moved three times. The local sub-branch of the Post Office ran from the old morning room.”
I can’t help thinking of Skyfall, so it comes as little surprise to learn that Inverailort was requisitioned in 1940 as a training base for the Special Operations Executive. When the laird died in 1957, his dotty-sounding widow remained here at Inverailort House until her death in 1994. It seems she was popular and hospitable, though presumably not blessed with much skill in estate management.
Today, one of the largest window frames is missing, and through this nasty void the passer by may steal an intrusive glimpse of pale plaster, now glowing in a horizontal evening light.
The boundary between interior and exterior – so miraculously achieved by only a frangible sheet of transparent silicate – is degrading fast. Out of an upper storey window, a 6ft tree is launching into the sky.
You’re reading one of my Sketches – fleeting exercises in curiosity from places far and wide. This one comes to you from Loch Ailort on the West Coast of Scotland.
Lights across the water
I can’t explain what I saw at 1:30am from my peaceful spot at the sea’s edge, a mile from Inverailort House.
The night was silent and immaculately clear, and a row of soft yellow lights glimmered on the far side of the water. Except... only one of them could be directly seen. The others only existed in their reflection on the water.
My brain groped for an explanation. Clearly these lights were not underwater. Perhaps they were in fact angled downwards towards the sea, blocked horizontally, but reflecting off the surface of the water – while also failing to create any pool of light around their point of origin. That sounds logical, sort of, but remains hard to explain.
You must also consider the possibility that I’m making this up, and I’ve doctored the image in some pathetic attempt to hook your attention. But I know I haven’t (and I hope you know me better by now).
I’m trying to resist the allure of a ghostly explanation, but I must admit I'm struggling.
Thanks for reading. For longer pieces of travel writing, you could try browsing my Travel Journal.
I have a haunted saucepan story I’ll share one day. I have no explanation for what happened that makes any sense.