What future do we all face when we cannot protect our treasured past?

EARLY in November I dropped by Kyleakin, Skye, for the first time in a quarter-century. The village was once unavoidable for most visitors to the island, as the chief point of entry. But, since October 1995, the ferry has been history and Kyleakin bypassed altogether by the Skye Bridge.

Today, it has a quiet and ghostly feel. But the harbour is still overlooked by the ruins of Castle Moil, erected in the 1400s and abandoned in the 17th century.

The last resident was the chief of Clan MacKinnon. But the previous structure on the site would have witnessed the mustering war fleet of King Haakon IV of Norway, as his ships sped south in 1263 to lose the Battle of Largs – and, thus, the Hebrides to Scotland.

Long before his time, in about 900, the fourth MacKinnon chief married a Norwegian princess whose name comes down in tradition as Saucy Mary.

It was their lucrative custom to suspend an iron chain across the Kyleakin narrows and only lower it for ships to sail through on payment of a toll. In cheeky acknowledgement, she always flashed her bare breasts.

But I only shared all this with my companion because of Castle Moil. Were it not there, Kyleakin would just be a little port, with nothing to jog one’s mind on centuries of distant history, warring sovereigns and wanton women.

Still, how far should we go to preserve such built heritage? That question now torments Historic Environment Scotland (HES), the public body responsible for hundreds of castles, stately homes, ruinous priories and atmospheric abbeys – and now under pressure amidst the perfect storm of natural decay, soaring visitor numbers and climate change.

LAST week Dr David Mitchell, director of conservation for HES, declared that we simply have to accept that HES cannot indefinitely save all its estate and that many structures should be fenced off and left gracefully to die.

‘Everything decays. We are fighting against the ravages of time. In some instances, we will have to let some stuff go.

‘We have to be bold and make decisions about what we are going to focus on.’

HES has begun a detailed inspection of more than 200 of its 336 properties, amid fears that some have so deteriorated they will soon pose genuine danger to visitors.

There are already restrictions at Melrose Abbey, Arbroath Abbey, Linlithgow Palace and elsewhere – hideous sheetmetal fencing keeping you back from particularly unstable arches, and so on.

This raises two questions. How have national treasures been so neglected by HES and its predecessors that they have decayed to such a point as this? And how was it even possible, given the popularity of these attractions and the considerable money they make?

In a typical year, after all, HES has income of more than £100million. Yet, in 2019-20, it spent just £8.3million on conservation and maintenance – and that included work on depots and visitor centres.

‘Our traditional approach has been to conserve sites like Melrose Abbey as romantic ruins,’ Dr Mitchell added.

‘We can repair and we do repair. But everything decays. We have some properties where we need to make difficult choices, where we have to ask if we can carry on or justify the level of investment required to conserve or manage that site.’

In every instance, of course, local feelings run high. Folk in Melrose are very proud of their Abbey. In Galloway, they press for yet more spending on Lochmaben Castle, reputedly the birthplace of Robert the Bruce – but which, as Dr Mitchell sighs, ‘is on its last legs’.

But there is also widespread awareness of how much is already irretrievably gone. Since 1900, 378 great country houses have been demolished in Scotland – 200 of these since the Second World War.

One firm alone, Charles Brand of Dundee, flattened 56 of them in just 20 years. Other structures, such as Alexander ‘Greek’ Thomson’s glorious Queen’s Park Church, have been destroyed by fire.

Churches all over the country have been converted or demolished. And fatuous planners and developers, especially in the Sixties, swept away beautiful old buildings for new, Brutalist structures – the heart of Inverness being one painful instance.

There are, of course, emotive instances when people desperately want a building to go. In Germany, understandably, almost every structure associated with Hitler has been erased or buried.

But the tides of visitors who, for instance, in recent years have overwhelmed Doune Castle – it features in the Outlander series – erode footpaths, overwhelm parking and, too often, try to take bits away – are themselves a threat to sites.

THERE is, too, crass cultural appropriation, like New Age types sticking creepy things onto the Callanish Stones or wedging soupy verse (invariably in English) on the gables of ancient, roofless Lewis chapels.

And there are ethical issues. To what degree should public money be spent to keep people of blue blood but slender means in their Robert Adam mansion? When should we just conserve, or actively restore? Castle Moil is occasionally stabilised – most recently, after a 2018 lightning strike – but no one sensible would want it rebuilt to as-new.

We might also ask if really rather modern structures can be granted historic value. St Peter’s Seminary near Cardross is widely described as Scotland’s finest post-war building.

It is A-listed. It is also derelict, vandalised and a haunt for the young and mischievous.

Yet, in terms of training priests in Catholic liturgy, it was an anachronism: vocations were in steep decline when St Peter’s opened in 1966, and ritual was greatly simplified after Vatican II. St Peter’s closed in 1980 and the worth of the vast concrete sprawl is not immediately obvious.

We might remind ourselves, too, that with sufficient fame and enthusiastic footfall, some properties do very nicely without resort to the taxpayer.

Earlier that same November day, I had made my first visit to Eilean Donan Castle at the other end of Lochalsh.

I had to pay £2 for parking and £10 for admission, but the visitor experience is delightful, with charming staff, clean and excellent facilities, stunning views therefrom and much to see and enjoy.

It is managed by the Conchra Charitable Trust, on behalf of the MacRae-Gilstrap family, who still occasionally live there – and, given its glorious setting, at the confluence of three sea lochs and framed by mighty mountains, Eilean Donan belongs as a landmark to us all.

HES must in the next few years make extremely difficult choices. Few can envy them.