Columba himself did not hold much by women. Tradition has it that he would not allow them on Iona, and any island workers with women had to keep them on Eilean na mBan (Island of the Women), that small barren granite isle which shelters the Bull Hole. Indeed, he did not even allow cattle on Iona, saying, ‘Where there is a cow there is a woman, and where there is a woman there is mischief.’

Altogether he was a remarkable man. Tall, well-featured, with long hair falling to each shoulder from the temples (for the early Celtic priests shaved the front of their heads), he had a commanding presence, and was, in fact, full of a restless energy, passionate and impetuous. He had that quality of voice which does not appear to be raised when speaking to those at hand and which can yet be heard clearly at a distance. A statesman, an organiser, he was almost continuously on the move, over land, by sea, daring any peril, unsparing of himself, teaching, converting, founding, succeeding.

He succeeded very well indeed—so well that his own folk, the Gaels or Scots (Ireland is called Scotia in the old records), who landed, as he landed, on the Argyllshire part of Scotland, managed in time to give their kings to Scotland, their tongue, and their particular methods of church government. All that was distinctive of the ancient Pictish Scotland, strong enough in its time to repel the Romans, faded away before this Columban energy and statesmanship, leaving scarcely a trace behind. It is the great mystery in Scottish history, so that to this day scholars debate the identity of the Picts, what tongue they spoke and how they were governed in church and state. Statesmanship that is so successful has doubtless its own reward, even if suspicion of doubtful dealings be not inevitably aroused. In any case, I was inclined to be one of those who felt no great urge to pay further tribute to Columba and Iona; who, in fact, would rather learn somewhat more of our real forebears, the Picts, and give his proper place to that Ninian who was a missionary in Scotland one hundred and fifty years before Columba arrived. In short, it seemed unnecessary to swell the vast ranks that every year pay homage to the Iouan Island (Iona).

Perhaps the critical eye went a bit deeper, too. There is so much scholarly talk of the Gael as the tall, aristocratic, conquering type, generally golden haired and blue eyed, that up against the visible appearance to-day of the folk themselves—one wonders. Moreover, if the Gael was the fighting extravert type, whence the exquisite sad music of Hebridean melody? And from melody to poetry, courtesy, instinctive good manners, and that gift for spontaneous gaiety in a natural communal life illustrated so well by the céilidh? Priestly energy, statecraft, power, dominance—until a whole folk, with all their intricate ways of life, including the very syllables of their tongue, fade away like the poet’s insubstantial pageant.