On the hill at Rhueval, looking out towards the sea, the sky, the parish of Iochdar and further to Benbecula and the rest of Uist, Our Lady of the Isles looks west in quiet benediction. This statue of Madonna and child stands alone, but not without a profound meaning. Nearby, just at the top of the hill, military domes blink red through the mist like watchful eyes, and below, islanders live, work and worship.

It’s easy to pass the wayside shrines that dot the roadsides of Iochdar and Loch Carnan without a second glance. They stand at the edge as we pass them by, but to those who know, they are cared for and looked after by the local crofters on who’s land they stand.

In 1954, a Marian Year, there was a special devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary as this was the centenary of the proclamation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception. It was also a year when there was a strong military presence in South Uist and at the time there were plans to build a military village in Ardnamonie. This village ended up in Balivanich.

With this possibility of a new military village, Canon John Morrison decided to make a statement, most importantly a statement of peace. In Ireland, this habit of setting up wayside statues of Our Lady started, and Canon John Morrison picked it up.

We have spoken to Fr. Michael MacDonald on the matter and he mentions that:

‘Canon Morrison didn’t just pick it up; he rooted it deep into the spiritual and political fabric of Uist. At first, locals said that the shrines all faced Ardkenneth.

But they don’t. When you study them, and you superimpose the old plan for the military village that was never built, you realise: these statues are looking onto the military roads that would be used in the community.’

The symbolism wasn’t accidental and still stands powerfully today with these statues and the local community.

‘There had never been any need before to externalise devotion to Mary in statue form. Churches were named after her and the people were deeply devout. But this was something different. These shrines were saying something, quietly but clearly.”

The shrines themselves don’t belong to the Church; they belong to the crofters and it’s the crofters who paint them, maintain them and place flowers around them. Over 70 years later, they’re held in very fond regard by the people in the north end of South Uist and the wider community.

Fr Michael mentions that this was really made visible when a shrine had to be moved due to a road development. 

‘There was a protest! The statue was moved and a new site made, looking onto the main road.’

Even in silence, these shrines refuse to be forgotten. But it’s the largest of them all, the towering 29-foot sculpture of Madonna and Child by Sir Hugh Lorimer that commands most attention. Perched on Rueval, its construction in 1958 was an act of monumental devotion and quiet resistance. It was also, in the eyes of many, providential.

‘Whether by accident or by design,’ Father Michael says, ‘the statue was blessed on the 15th of August 1958. The next year, they announced the range would not go ahead as planned. This outcome was taken at the time to be due to  the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary.’

The sculpture signifying  peace, standing watch over a landscape marked by military purpose.

Today, the presence of the Range is complex. It provides vital jobs. It brings American missile tests. These missiles exist to cause destruction. It raises questions.

‘If we didn’t have it, we’d be in an awful position,” Father Michael admits. “But it puts before us in a very stark way all the clashes involved; military, nuclear, ethical, and yet our desire for peace through the Prince of Peace.’

Maybe a bit of a dramatic question, but does that make the community complacent about war? and that where we live is where they do their target practise?

‘I don’t think it’s dramatic to ask,’ he replies. ‘But it is a confused and confusing question. Historically, these islands are not pacifist. The Lovat Scouts, Cameron Highlanders, National Service, all of that is part of us too.’

‘It’s not the secret anymore,’ he says. ‘Now range activities are frequently   broadcast. It’s a different kind of signal.’

In that strange coexistence between defence testing and quiet prayer, missiles and granite, something deeper seems to emerge. Perhaps not resolution, but presence and reflection. A space that is on Rhuval held between two realities.

‘I don’t know of anywhere else in the country where you have this symbiosis, between a religious sculpture and a military establishment. When the statue is floodlit at night, and the red lights of the domes glow through the mist, it’s ghostly. But it’s also comforting. A reminder that we’re in the business of peace, one way or another.‘

And perhaps that’s what the shrines still stand for. Not just devotion. Not just resistance. But blessing; for everyone who passes through on whatever road they walk.

‘At the end of the day, everything returns to peace. Either by a unilateral route or a multilateral one. That’s what we are in the business of.‘