Love, loss and secret anguish behind cluster of tragedies in the Highlands
Broadcaster Gary Innes lost six of his shinty teammates to suicide. Now, in a poignant documentary, he uncovers a worrying epidemic of isolation, toxic masculinity – and loneliness
FROM the shelter of its craggy headland, the stark beauty of the views from An Aird shinty park takes the breath away. To the west across the blue-black waters of Loch Linnhe stands the bleak majesty of Ardnamurchan, while Britain’s tallest peak, a distant Ben Nevis, patrols its northern boundaries.
Even a light Lochaber drizzle cannot dampen the autumnal splendour that surrounds this hallowed turf.
Great battles have been fought and won at the home of Fort William Shinty Club. Down the years, its players have achieved every honour in the game and many have gone on to represent their country. Yet, for all the medals and cups in the trophy cabinet, the dressing room banter and bar room bragging, there is also a lingering sense of loss, of doomed struggles off the pitch.
In the space of 20 years, six members of this one club have taken their own lives. What is worse, this shocking cluster of deaths carries an air of disheartening predictability in the Highlands, where suicide rates, particularly among men under 45, have been stubbornly high for decades.
The Scottish Government’s suicide prevention action plan, published in August last year, has pledged to reduce Scotland’s rate of suicide by one fifth by 2022.
There is much work to be done. Between 2012 and 2016, 173 men took their lives in the north of Scotland – substantially higher than in most other parts of the country. The majority are in the most vulnerable group, aged 25 to 44.
And while visitors to this area of outstanding beauty revel in its rugged outdoorsy appeal, the upbeat welcome of the tourist brochure has once more betrayed its dark underbelly.
Just why this pernicious circle of death has yet to be broken has been the cause of deep unease for many years for one of the club’s former stars, Gary Innes, who knew the six men who died.
‘The thing with suicide is that it always leaves so many more questions than answers once a person goes, for their families, for their friends and social circle,’ said Mr Innes.
Now a hugely successful folk musician and broadcaster, the 39-year-old has been moved to make a two-part BBC Radio Scotland documentary, called Six Men, to try to understand why his friends fell victim to this hidden epidemic.
MR Innes said: ‘My childhood in Lochaber was pretty much idyllic, with shinty very much at the heart of community life for generations of folk like myself. From the age of 17 until I was 37, several of my shinty-playing friends, six men that I knew very well both on and off the pitch, died by suicide. It’s something that affects every small community.’
Attending funerals, each time ‘another man short’, was difficult to make sense of.
He said: ‘It wasn’t until I stopped playing shinty that I realised that so many young men taking their own life from one club wasn’t normal.
‘Lochaber and the Highlands of Scotland have the highest suicide rates per head of population in the UK. As well as the six teammates I played with, I know 12 other people from Lochaber who also took their own lives.’
Inevitably, much is made in the documentary of the connections between this small group of young men, but their close friendship alone, both on and off the sporting field, has never proved sufficient explanation for their deaths.
Such clusters have happened before. In 2010, five teenagers in Dundee with no obvious connection took their lives within a matter of weeks.
In 2004, three friends who played for Inverness pub side Glenalbyn FC took their lives within weeks of each other. A fourth friend, who did not play football, killed himself the following year.
In Fort William, it was the death of a sixth teammate in 2017, who has not been named at the wishes of his family, that felt in some ways the most troubling.
A Scotland shinty internationalist, he appeared from the outside to have ‘everything going for him’, said Mr Innes. ‘That really frightened me. He had a wonderful wife and a young child, he was a terrific all-round athlete, was great at his job and was a really good guy and terrific company to be in.
‘It was incredibly shocking for his family and friends, the club and the wider community. I thought that if he felt that suicide was his only way out then nobody I knew was safe.’
The documentary, aired to coincide with World Suicide Awareness Day last Thursday and now available via the BBC Sounds app, features some of the players’ families. For all them, the deaths came without warning – crucially, they argue, because young men will alltoo often bury mental anguish deep within themselves rather than talk about their feelings. It comes as a YouGov survey shows more than a third of Scots still don’t feel confident talking about suicide with their family, while only half would talk to their friends about suicidal thoughts.
Sheila Ferguson said her son Drew never revealed any signs he was contemplating taking his own life before he died, aged only 24, in May 2013.
Remembering him as ‘a bright spark who lived life at 90mph and always had a smile on his face’, the former teacher said: ‘A couple of weeks before he was due to go offshore for work, I noticed he was a little down but he perked up and I thought he was all right.
‘But on the day he was leaving, as his car went round the corner I had an awful feeling I would never see him again and I was right. Life goes very quiet when someone as big, loud and noticeable as Drew disappears. I just wish he could have told someone how he was truly feeling.’
It is a familiar narrative. Joyce Wells, whose son Gary, 36, died in August 2014, speaks openly about her loss. ‘Opening up’ was something her son found hard.
Gary Wells had played shinty since primary school and moved up through the ranks as goalkeeper at the Fort William side before playing at under-21 level for Scotland. As strong as an ox and ‘full of mischief’ as a boy, he trained as a welder.
Although he had suicidal thoughts before and had sought help shortly before his death, Gary never talked about what lay behind them, Mrs Wells said.
‘No, sadly not, because he was a big fella, he was a bouncer and a shinty man, strong,’ she added.
‘They don’t talk about their inner feelings, especially in a place like Lochaber. And I think, in his dark place, he didn’t know where to go for help.’
She and her daughter Sharon both feel that a macho image still pervades sport, where suicide still carries a stigma of weakness. Sharon said her brother’s death affected her deeply and she moved back home to be nearer to her parents. She admits to feelings of guilt and resentment and anger towards her brother after his death.
She said: ‘Gary has four beautiful children and he is not going to see them growing up and it angers me that he has left them without a dad. At the same time, we give them more love than we would probably have ever given before.
‘But every time you hear of somebody else taking their life, it just brings it all back to us and you think not again.’
Mr Innes, who plays accordion with folk-rock group Mànran, said: ‘Shinty is traditionally a sport that encourages quite a macho culture so feelings weren’t so easily talked about back when I first started.
‘There were a few things put in
place to try to encourage us to talk about any struggles we were having but until people feel ready to open up and talk about how they feel, there’s really not much more you can do – that’s the hard part.’
Statistics show Scottish suicide rates are highest in highly urbanised areas and rural areas where people feel isolated.
It is an illness which is particularly prevalent in young men who work alone in trades such as decorators, carpenters and electricians or who spend days at sea on fishing boats.
Small towns, which can often feel like living in a goldfish bowl as everyone knows your business, can add to the pressure and make you less reluctant to seek help, according to Professor Rory O’Connor, head of the suicidal behaviour research laboratory at the University of Glasgow.
He said: ‘There are lots of different reasons why people choose to end their lives – from drug and alcohol abuse or a traumatic experience, to social deprivation and depression, all driven by a sense of entrapment. I think it is so important that we do talk about our feelings and our emotions.
‘One thing all suicide has in common is that it leaves families heartbroken and loved ones struggling to come to terms with the devastation that is left behind.’
He added: ‘It’s really important that we highlight that knowing somebody who has died by suicide increases your own risk.’ But the programme offers hope, too, of a way forward.
It cites the example of Shetland, which had one of the highest suicide rates in Scotland ten years ago but now has one of the lowest thanks to a range of initiatives with one simple aim – to get young men talking about their feelings.
Karen Smith, head of mental health at NHS Shetland, started working with local charity Mind Your Head. ‘It was very low-key to start, just very quietly sitting in the corner of a local supermarket waving flags for Mind Your Head and not really speaking about suicide. It was a difficult subject,’ she said.
They became bolder and hired a van with stickers encouraging people to talk about suicide prevention. They became visible and would ask what was preventing people from asking for help.
Themes started to emerge. ‘It was people not knowing where to go to ask for help, people being ashamed, being embarrassed,’ she said, adding that Shetland went through a phase of suicide being used as a familiar choice to cope with life events such as the loss of a job or partner.
Suicide was a permanent solution to often temporary problems. Ms Smith said: What I wanted to do was take that choice away from people; that we have another choice, to choose to live and we will help you deal with any issues that you are struggling with.’
A stone’s throw from An Aird is Lochaber Hope, a charity that has spent the two years working with the community on suicide prevention.
It holds regular Monday night and Tuesday night groups for men and women respectively to talk about their mental health problems and has helped more than 1,800 people. Founder Alison Smith said: ‘What people need is hope and that is what we can give.’
Shinty’s governing body, the Camanachd Association, has also got on board and recently ran a pilot mental health awareness workshop and offers support through clubs.
SUCH steps fill Mr Innes with optimism, but he sounded a cautionary note. ‘As we go through a global pandemic where everyone has worries about money and family life and potential impacts with jobs and security and so on, I think we have to be very careful about cutting funding to these initiatives.
‘We are certainly going to see more cases of people coming forward with mental health issues than before off the back of this.’
Professor O’Connor concurs: ‘If we are going to encourage people to talk and reach out, we have to make sure that there are services and support out there. It’s immoral if we are saying go and seek help and there’s no support out there.’
Since making the programme, Mr Innes admits he is no closer to understanding why his teammates took their lives. But he is clear on one point: ‘Suicide is an illness and if it isn’t addressed and talked about then, of course, you cannot be treated for it.
‘If you are feeling low or having any kind of suicidal thoughts, to admit that is one of the most difficult things to do, but it’s also such an important step to getting the help that you need.
‘It is okay to not be okay.’
For confidential support, call the Samaritans on 116123, visit a branch or see the website Samaritans.org.