‘I set the candles close to each other and watch the flames’
Alistair Moffat’s journey around the Hebrides and Atlantic coast took him to Iona, where he had a moving and personal experience in St Oran’s Chapel after visiting the grave of his friend, John Smith, in the Reilig Odhrain.
Very simple and with a sanctity needing no adornment, the little chapel was deserted when I entered, lit only by a few votive candles.
Since the death of my first granddaughter, Hannah Moffat, in 2015, and the birth of Grace, her little sister, in 2016, I have sometimes lit candles for them, my wee lasses. So that Hannah’s memory and Grace’s hope burn bright, especially in the peace of ancient churches, I set them close to each other
and watch the flames flicker, anxious a sudden draught does not blow them out. In places where generations of mourners have wept for loss, my tears were for the future that was taken from the child we were never allowed to know. It does not matter to me, someone who does not believe in God, that I light candles in a church. I expect no comfort from anywhere and, in any case, where else could I do such a thing? What matters is the peace, the quiet
and the dignity. This deserted little chapel seemed to me to have those things and perhaps I could believe a little in the notion of holy ground or at least holy places. There is no sin to wash away, no need for faith in cleansing soil, only grief that will never mend. But, in St Oran’s, my tears were for my girls, not for me. I have had my life and I hope that Grace will have hers, but, for Hannah, there will be nothing except remembrance.