Notes on the natural history of the Bell RockCampbell, J. M. (John MacLean)
History
Notes on the natural history of the Bell Rock
Campbell, J. M. (John MacLean)
Lighthouses -- Natural history; Natural history -- Scotland -- Bell Rock
with a wad of tow, a material which for many years has been superseded
throughout the service by cotton waste.
The ping-pong craze has come our length, and in imitation of other
manlier sports a trophy has been instituted for competition, the
said trophy to become the property of the holder after being won
thirteen consecutive times. The trophy takes the form of a handsome
cup of silver, or, to be more explicit, of a metal usually found in
conjunction with silver, and is quite Grecian in its simplicity of
design. It is considered to be of foreign origin, and bears evidence
of having at one time been profusely chased and engraved. A beautiful
pastoral scene is depicted on the one side, while, on the other, two
foreign words are barely decipherable, namely, “Lait Concentré.” The
trophy generally graces our tea table for some time prior to the
competition, and materially aids in stimulating the flagging energies
of the competitors.
_JUNE 1902._
Only towards the end of this month did we experience anything like
summer weather. Belieing the wintry weather we had been experiencing,
the fragrant odour of the hawthorn blossom borne on the off-shore wind
imparts a pleasurable sensation, recalling scenes of earlier days
when void of care we went “flourish” gathering, or later on disported
ourselves amongst the “hips and haws.” Here, no sylvan scenery greets
the tired eye nor gives respite to the senses from the everlasting
waste of waters, with its ever-changing moods, from placid glassy
calm to the wildest turbulence, when blustering Boreas drives his
team amain, and the white-maned coursers charge down upon us like an
avalanche. As the tide drops, and the long lush tangles trail their
tattered tops on the surface, a dank heavy odour is perceptible,
scarcely so pleasing to the senses as that of the “hawthorn bud that
opes in the month of May.” Equipped with a stout stick bearing an iron
hook, an hour’s crab-hunting among the rocks brings one into contact
with many forms of life otherwise unnoticed. Groping underneath a
projecting ledge, to ascertain if the inmate is at home, the eye is
arrested by minute nodules of scarlet jelly pendant from the roof, and
destined to become a close imitation of their terrestrial namesake the
anemone, or, in similar situations, patches of white whelk ova appear
like so many grains of wheat arranged as close as possible to each
other.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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