This isn't the story I expected to tell here. And I want to be clear at the very start: Gruinard Island, on the west coast of Scotland,
is not a tourist destination. There's not much to see, and what there is,
you can see it from the mainland. But if you really do want to get closer,
there is a way. And these days, the government
won't even try to stop you. While I think Scottish right-to-roam law would allow us to land this boat
and have a walk around, the owners of the island asked that I don't. And that's fair enough. One of the reasons I want
to respect that request is because there is quite a history of Englishmen
coming up to the Scottish Highlands and, uh, acting like we own the place. Gruinard Island here? In World War 2, this is where Britain
tested its biological weapons. It was contaminated for decades,
and landing was dangerous and illegal. It has another unofficial name:
Anthrax Island. ...and traditionally at this point, television crews go into
the history of the place, and there'd be a lot of pontificating
about whether Britain would ever have actually used
lethal anthrax bacteria as a weapon. The government has always maintained that
the experiments on Gruinard Island sheep here were just for defence, to have data in case we were attacked, or as an early form of mutually-assured-destruction. All the records I found back that up, but who knows what was said
quietly in private. Britain did draw up theoretical attack plans. That seems abhorrent now.
But in times of war, the laws fall silent. This video isn't about that. I'm telling you that story so I can tell you something else
I found while researching. Because it's often difficult to find
truth about history like this: so before travelling up here,
I went to look at original documents in the National Archives. It's really amazing to me that
researchers can just ask for those. All the details are there: how much anthrax the scientists
used in each test, how many sheep were killed and how, the dimensions of the
clouds of anthrax given off, and the scientists' comments about
just how effective it was. But that's been well told,
in books, in articles, in all sorts of ways. It's been badly told as well, like in an overdramatic US TV segment
from 2001, where the journalist wears a completely unnecessary
respirator and hazmat suit. And he didn't need those
because in the 1980s, the island was decontaminated. Partly because of pressure and
petitions from the public, and there was also more startling pressure, when an anonymous group calling themselves
Dark Harvest Commando dumped anthrax-contaminated soil outside
one of the English government research labs. The people responsible were never tracked
down. And while all that was going on,
modern tourism had become a thing: in 1982, the government had to deal
with a couple of Europeans on holiday who just landed on the island
in an inflatable dinghy and had a walk around, unaware of
the danger that was still there. There's a letter in the archives
from the British Embassy, and it's this wonderful bit
of diplomatic writing. And it's among those more modern documents
that I stumbled on a story about Gruinard Island that I don't think has ever been told,
because in context it's a fairly minor detail. But out of all the stories about the island,
this is the one that stood out to me. So it's 1986. The decontamination was successful, the government used tonnes and tonnes
of formaldehyde disinfectant, which killed a few other things
apart from the anthrax, but the ecosystem was steadily
starting to recover from that. For the government, it all
seemed to be going well. The press coverage was mostly positive, they got a lot of attention
for doing a good thing, for finally cleaning up an old mess. And of course the public's interested
in the whole thing, "newly cleaned-up secret wartime
anthrax-contaminated island" is the sort of thing that
attracts people's attention. And it was being sold for only Β£500! Slight catch there. It was being sold for Β£500
back to the original owners. Because the government, correctly, was honouring the original contract
from the 1940s, which specified that once the island was safe again, the folks who'd sold it to the government,
or those people's descendants, they'd have the option of buying it back. For the same price they sold it for, Β£500. It was worth much much more than that,
but Β£500 was the price, and Β£500 they'd pay. What this did not mean was that there was a bargain-basement
private Scottish Island on sale. But the trouble is that the press can
sometimes gloss over some of those details. And as the decontamination story went out
in newspapers and magazines and TV broadcasts, several government departments
found themselves dealing with a rush of letters and telephone calls
from the public, all asking if they could buy
the island for Β£500. "It has come to my attention that the
island of Gruinard is for sale. "I am interested in making an offer to purchase." I realise that getting voice actors
to read the letters out does make them a bit funny, but I don't want to mock the
people sending the letters. They weren't ignorant, they'd just been told by an
apparently-reliable source that there was a private Scottish island
available for Β£500. I'd ask about that.
I might even try and beat the offer. "The price offered is Β£500.
I am prepared to offer Β£501 immediately." One woman from Glasgow wrote: "The fear of anthrax pales
into insignificance to me, "as I have lived adjacent to a council
rubbish dump for nearly three years." And it wasn't just British people. The enquiries came from all over the world. Germany, Ethiopia, Bahrain,
the UAE, New Zealand, a couple from homesick Scottish immigrants
to Australia. "I often long for the old country." People wrote to any department
that they thought might be relevant: the Scottish Office,
the Ministry of Defence. A man from Australia wrote directly
to the Prime Minister offering a thousand dollars. "Please forgive me for writing
directly to you, Mrs Thatcher, "but I am hoping you will forward this
tender to the correct department." That one arrived three months
after the first ones. This took a long time to clear up. Not all the incoming letters
are in the archives, probably not all the replies either. There are also a couple of
grumpy memos from civil servants passing the buck to one another about dealing with the letters
and the phone calls. I do wonder if any of these writers
thought their letter would someday end up preserved in a national archive. This isn't ancient history, that's why I've blocked out
their personal details. And I love this story. Because it shows that misinformation
is not a new thing. Misunderstandings are not a new thing. Even now, if you Google
"who owns Gruinard Island" you'll find an article about how
Russian oligarchs want to buy it... dated April 1st, 2018. April Fools' Day is a curse
and we should abandon it. And anyone who's ever been in
the public eye, even briefly, knows that one wrong word can
come back to haunt you for years. It might not even be your word: the press might misquote you,
or take you out of context, and somehow the world gets
the impression that, for example, for example, you're the person to call
about a surprisingly cheap Scottish island that doesn't have anthrax any more.
Does Tom Scott ever tell the story he expected to tell..
I can't disagree with this argument in this case.
Wow, so this is the island they named The Guardian newspaper after.
I often long for the old country.
I feel the urge to write him and ask if I can buy the island.
"They aren't ignorant..."
"I lived next to a rubbish dump for 3 years, what the fuck some anthrax gonna do?"