Why the bloody hell is Rockall called Rockall?

Possible explanation rises from sea of confusion

by De Management

Our postbag last week contained a letter from the deliciously-named Nicky Rockall, who asked: "Why is it called Rockall Rock?"

A good question, and we're obliged to Lawrence McChrystal for this possible explanation:

Hi, I found a now defunct website called Overview of Rockall. In the search engine blurb it called it "Sgier Rocail" — Gaelic I think by the spelling. "The rock of Roaring"

Well, part of it at least is pukka Gaelic — almost. Sgeir certainly means "rock", and can be found in the name of Sula Sgeir (Gannet Rock), another lonely outcrop lying 40 miles north of Lewis.

However, we are unable to confirm that "rocail" means roaring, despite, oh, ten minutes or so hitting the Gaelic language resource websites. What we need here is a bona fide Gaelic scholar to set us straight. Anyone with the right credentials and a solid answer to this ongoing mystery is invited to contact us right here.

Since we seem to be developing a Celtic theme to this week's letters, let's give an airing to Thomas Duncan who wrote to offer "some info about how rockall came about according to those Celtic nuts (which I am one)". Thomas kindly forwarded the lyrics to "Rock on Rockall" — an inflammatory ditty by Brian Warfield of the Wolfe Tones:

Oh the empire is finished no foreign lands to seize
So the greedy eyes of England are looking towards the seas
Two hundred miles from Donegal, there's a place that's called Rockall
And the groping hands of Whitehall are grabbing at its walls

Oh rock on Rockall, you'll never fall to Britain's greedy hands
Or you'll meet the same resistance that you did in many lands
May the seagulls rise and pluck your eyes and the water crush your shell,
And the natural gas will burn your ass and blow you all to hell.

For this rock is part of Ireland, 'cos it' s written in folklore
That Fionn MacCumhaill took a sod of grass and he threw it to the fore,
Then he tossed a pebble across the sea, where ever it did fall,
For the sod became the Isle of Man and the pebble's called Rockall.

Now the seas will not be silent, while Britannia grabs the waves
And remember that the Irish will no longer be your slaves,
And remember that Britannia, well, — she rules the waves no more
So keep your hands off Rockall — it's Irish to the core.

We make no comment except to offer this anecdote: when fundraising for our 2003 Rockall Ho! adventure, we contacted Ryanair to ask for some sponsorship. The premise for this shameless tin-rattling was that we had to catch a Ryanair plane from Stanstead to Glasgow Prestwick en route to our meeting with the sacred isle. Ryanair agreed on one condition — that we raised the Irish tricolour over Rockall and then sent them photos to prove it. Suffice it to say, we politely declined.

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