From about the 1930s, more and more people -- many of impeccable character, sobriety and scepticism -- were shaken by the sight of a ghost car, near the Kyle ferry, heading for it or away from it, both on Skye and Wester Ross. This car was black, extremely fast, and you saw it hurtling towards you on the single-track road. So you pulled in, and waited, and waited in the passing place -- and saw it no more. It would vanish into thin air. Or it would disappear into an intervening bend and never emerge. One man had a real fright; the car actually passed him, and he glanced to see if he knew the driver -- and there was no-one, no-one at all, in the car.
Through the forties, through the fifties, sightings of the Wee Black Car continued. It became an institution. I've met some who, as children, used to look out for it.
And then, in about 1960, a Free Presbyterian minister boarded the Kyleakin ferry. He was travelling with two women and a child. The car was not his own, but the lady owner had asked the minister to do the difficult job of boarding the turntable craft. He must have made a mistake. The car boarded, did not stop, ran the full length of the deck, knocked the opposite ramp down, and plunged into the sea.
The water wasn't deep. The car roof actually broke the surface. Aghast, onlookers could see those inside. A crewman leapt from the ferry, balanced on the car roof, and battered on the windows with an axe. They refused to break. Somehow the minister, a corpulent man, struggled free. The women and the child drowned.
Yes, it was a black car. And yes, the other car, the mystery one, was never seen again.
