Aimsir Eachainn, 28th August 1981

Thursday

One cold night in deepest winter over 150 years ago Kenneth of the Bull was coming from a woman at Gravir. He was in the out in the crags [in fact anns na cnuic does not necessarily imply mountainous rocks and is just island Gaelic shorthand for on the moor outside the village ] above Calbost without any notion that there was anyone on the earth but himself. Although his sight was good (he would read the Bible by the light of the aurora) Satan and lust had blinded him so much that he did not see the bull until he was on top of it. They did not have shorthorns in those days at all, but lean grey bulls that would not be shamed at Aintree. It is not recorded how many miles Kenneth ran up, down, and around, rocks with the bull at his heels. It is possible if the ground had not been level that he would have not kept his feet and remember that the bull had two more legs than him. At last Kenneth managed to turn and meet it face-to-face. Apparently there has never been any battle on the far side of the Loch the like of that one. We will leave out mention of the first dozen rounds just now, but at the last Kenneth knocked away one of the bull's front legs. And remember that I am a great-great grandchild of Kenneth of the Bull.