Ardlamont, that point that marks where the Kyles of Bute meets lower Loch Fyne and the Kilbrannan Sound has a reputation for stormy passages and strong currents. The picture above shows Arran from Ardlamont and the beauty of the vista is a further notable feature of the landscape. Ardlamont never did have a pier, Ardlamont House, the most important in the area, was conveniently served by Kames or Tighnabruaich. Ardlamont House itself was built around 1820 and was the home of Major General John Lamont. Its major claim to fame, however, came much later in 1893 when it was the scene of a celebrated murder on August 10th of that year. The trial took place in the High Court in Edinburgh before the Lord Justice-Clerk in December and lasted ten days. The prosecution was led by the Solicitor-General, Mr Alexander Asher, and the defence by the notable advocate, John Comrie Thomson. The Scotsman of December 11th provided a concise account of the facts as they were known before the trial commenced:—
“As there will be to-morrow no opening statement by counsel, as in England , a short summary of the incidents of the case, so far as they are known, may be given at this time. Lieutenant Hambrough was the eldest son of Mr Dudley Alfred Hambrough of Steephill Castle, Isle of Wight. The family were the ground landlords of Ventnor, and one of the oldest in the district. Young Mr Hambrough was heir to this property, and under the will of his grandfather would, on coming of age a few months hence, have inherited other property and a considerable fortune besides. Under the will Monson is said to have been appointed guardian of the young heir, and Hambrough having obtained a Lieutenant’s commission in the Prince of Wales’ Own Yorkshire Regiment (Militia), of which his father was Major, Monson passed before the world as his tutor. Monson himself is most respectably, and even aristocratically connected. He was third son of late Rev. Thomas John Monson, rector of Kirkby-under-Dale, and his mother was a daughter of the fifth Viscount Galway. He was married in South Africa in 1881 and has three children. Although only thirty-three, he has had a somewhat varied career, and during his residence in Risley, in Yorkshire, where Lieutenant Hambrough had a seat, he has had somewhat serious financial embarrassments. Hambrough and he seemed to be constant companions, and to be much attached , and during the past four years are said to have lived much together. Their introduction to Scotland took place in the middle of last summer, when Ardlamont House and shootings, on the Firth of Clyde, near Tighnabruaich, being to let they became joint tenants and went to stay there. They passed some time there fishing and shooting, and so pleased was Hambrough with the place that, it being for sale, he talked of buying it. So quietly did they live that the neighbourhood took little or no concern in their affairs, until one day—the l0th of August—the news spread that Lieutenant Hambrough, while out rabbit shooting with Monson and another companion, had accidentally shot himself while trailing his gun over a dyke. There was a passing sensation of sympathy over the untimely fate of a young man with such good prospects, and a day or two after a formal paragraph announcing Lieutenant Hambrough’s death appeared in the newspapers. The explanations offered seemed sufficient and perfectly natural. There was no difficulty in getting a medical certificate of the cause of death. The body was removed and buried at Ventnor, and the public ceased to take any further interest in the affair. At Ardlamont House matters resumed their normal conditions; other guests came and went, and appeared to enjoy themselves unconcernedly.
Ardlamont House from the Air (Aeropictorial)
“It was not till nearly three weeks after Hambrough’s death that attention was again called to Ardlamont House and its tenants. It came to be known that the Chief Constable of the county and other officials were making fresh inquiries, and that Monson, although allowed perfect freedom of action was kept under close surveillance by the police. A day or two later, on the 31st August, the country was startled to learn that Alfred John Monson had been arrested and conveyed to Inveraray, and there charged before the Sheriff with being concerned in Lieutenant Hambrough’s death. Then public excitement blazed forth, and every incident that could be recalled of the residence of Monson and Hambrough at Ardlamont, and every incident in the career of both that could be laid hold of, was eagerly scanned. It was resumed, without further ado, that there had been a crime, and there only remained to cast about for a motive and to fix the crime on somebody. It came to be known that an insurance company had been to some extent concerned in pushing the inquiries regarding Hambrough’s death, and then it came out that insurance policies for large amounts had been effected over Hamhrough’s life, and that these had been assigned to Mrs Monson. Then the events leading up to the tragedy were severely scrutinised, and here it was that the mysterious element in the case came in. Lieutenant Hambrough had hired a steam launch from one of the Clyde ports, and a man who was known by the name of Edward Scott came to Ardlamont, ostensibly to act as engineer on board of her. He reached Ardlamont on the evening of the 8th August in company with Monson, who was a passenger by the same steamer. He went about in Monson’s company on the following day, and at the house he appears to have been treated with something more than the consideration which is shown to a servant. On the evening of the 9th, Monson and Hambrough went out fishing in the bay below Ardlamont House. They had a small boat which had been hired for the season from Mr M‘Kellar, a boat-hirer at Tighnabruaich. What happened in the course of the evening is known only from Monson’s own story, and that is to the effect that when the pair were beyond the promontory which encloses the bay on the north side the boat began to fill. Hambrough, who was rowing, pulled with all haste to the shore, but before it could be reached the boat struck on a rock or boulder, and capsized, throwing the pair into the water. Hambrough could not swim, and got upon the rock. Monson struck out for the shore, and crossed the fields to where another boat belonging to the estate carpenter was lying within Ardlamont Bay. That boat had been brought round into the bay on the previous evening by Monson and Scott. Monson now got into her, and put off to Hambrough’s assistance. Hambrough was got on board. M‘Kellar’s boat was taken in tow, and the pair rowed round the point into the bay. But before they reached the shore the carpenter’s boat also began to fill, and ultimately went down in shoal water, through which Monson and Hambrough had to wade ashore. The whereabouts of Scott, at the time of the boating accident are not clear, but it appears that when Monson and Hambrough returned to Ardlamont House, wet and exhausted after their adventure, Scott was with them. They reached the house so late—or rather it was early on the morning of the 10th—that, after changing their clothing and getting some refreshment, it was not worthwhile to go to bed. One reason given for this was that Mrs Monson had to go to Glasgow that morning by the early steamer, and in point of fact Mrs Monson did undertake that journey to make purchases. It was after she had departed about seven o’clock in the morning—that the three men, Monson, Hambrough, and Scott, started on the fatal shooting expedition. Monson and Hambrough had guns; Scott carried the bag. The house, it may be here stated, is a plain, old-fashioned stucture, looking south to Arran, and is surrounded by open fields and woodland which grows pretty dense within view of the rear windows, six or seven hundred yards away. The report of a gun was first heard in the wood to the south-west of the house, and Hambrough was seen to jump a dyke and take up a rabbit, which he handed to Scott to carry. The party then crossed the policies eastward, and entered the wood to the south-east of the house. After they had got into the plantation Hambrough was seen to strike away by himself to the right, while Monson and Scott turned off to the left. Had they continued to walk along these lines their courses could not by any possibility have converged. The subsequent events can only be matter of conjecture, but it is probable from what afterwards came to be known that Hambrough having reached the turf dyke, which is the eastern boundary of the plantation, used it as a footpath to lead him to the north-west limit of the wood. It is certain, however, that within a short time after his disappearance in the wood, a shot was heard, and the next announcements conveyed to Ardlamont House was that Hambrough was dead. This announcement was brought to the estate offices by Monson himself, and his statement was that, having heard a shot, he called out to ask Hambrough what he had got, and receiving no reply, had pushed his way through the wood, and found his friend lying dead in the ditch. Scott and he had lifted the body out of the ditch, and had placed it on the turf dyke, and there it was found by the estate workmen, by whom it was conveyed to the house. A couple of hours later it was examined by a Tighnabruaich doctor , who gave it as his opinion that death might have been caused by Hambrough holding his gun incautiously in getting over the dyke. Next day Scott left Ardlamont and has not been seen since. His departure at the time caused no comment, but when the affair, after having been bushed up for three weeks, came to be again investigated, it was seen that there was room for further explanations. It was noted, for instance, that about six yards distant from the place where Hambrough’s body was found by the estate workmen, a small rowan tree growing there had pellet marks at the height of a man’s head above the ground, and other circumstances had emerged which led the Crown authorities to exhume the body of Hambrough, which had been sent for burial to the Isle of Wight, and to get a fresh medical examination of it made. Meantime there was the sensation of Monson’s arrest, his examination before the Sheriff at Inveraray, and the breaking up of the Ardlamont house party. Then attention came to be directed to the disappearance of Scott, and his connection with the affair, and when the hue and cry was raised facts came to be known regarding him which did not enhance his character in public estimation. It was questioned whether he was an engineer at all. He was said to be known in London betting circles, and to be a person bearing several aliases. His real name is believed to he Sweeney. The failure of the police to lay hands on him is one of the most mysterious elements in the whole transactions; but it was confidently believed for weeks that the police knew all about him, and were only waiting the proper moment to arrest him. Those charged with the defence of Monson were equally alert to learn as to his whereabouts; and there is no doubt that public interest in the case was stimulated for weeks by the attempts to discover this mysterious personage. But, by-and-by, when a placard appeared offering a reward for “Scott’s” apprehension, it was found that the police were at fault, and that Scott was still at large. He was in course charged along with Monson with the murder of Lieutenant Hambrough, and failing to appear, he was proclaimed a fugitive from the law. Monson’s removal from Inveraray to Greenock, and from Greenock to Edinburgh, where a fortnight ago he appeared at a pleading diet before Sheriff, are minor incidents in a sensational story. The authorities have worked hard to bring the case to an issue. For the defence, Monson in Messrs Davidson & Syme has had the benefit of skilful agents.”—Scotsman, December 11, 1893
During the trial, the prosecution attempted to show that Lieutenant Hambrough had been using a 20-gauge shotgun and that Monson was carrying the 12-gauge weapon that fired the fatal blow; that the wound was consistent with a shot fired from behind and that Hambrough had been standing on a dyke with his head aligning with pellet marks on a Rowan and a Beech tree at the site. There were also no powder burns on the body that the prosecution suggested was inconsistent with an accident. Much was made of attempts by Monson to secure insurance on the life of the young Lieutenant and the complexities of the financial affairs of both Monson and the Hambrough family must have tried the understanding of the jury. In the end, the Scots verdict of “not proven” was returned.
Around Ardlamont into the lower reaches of Loch Fyne on the Kilfinnan Shore, one comes across the village of Portavadie. Once a thriving fishing community, by the early 1900s it was advertised as a remote spot for camping and relaxation.
Portavadie (Spencer)
Craig na Breach Portavadie (Spencer)
Of course in more recent years, it became a construction site for oil platforms and is now the terminus for a useful ferry across Loch Fyne to Tarbert.
Kilfinan Burn (Spencer)
Farther north past Kilfinnan at the “Oitir,” the gravel bank marking the division of Lower Loch Fyne from Upper Loch Fyne is the village of Otter Ferry. There was a fisherman’s quay here dating back to the 1820s and as the name implies, there was a ferry across Loch Fyne.
Otter Ferry was well known for oysters.
Greenock Advertiser, February 23, 1844
Greenock Telegraph, March 15, 1869
Ferry calls by the steamboats that sailed to Inveraray could be arranged from as early as 1820 but a regular advertised service was late to arrive. Regular passenger calls were made by the Lord of the Isles after 1877 and by her successor of 1891.
Otter Ferry post office
Some idea of the service can be gleaned from this little fanciful reverie that appeared in 1900.
“You have not received a continuation of these “Bits” for some weeks past, Mr Editor, and for this very simple and sufficient reason: I have not found spare time enough to write them. Other work has been too pressing of late in my particular line of business. Now, however, I think the spell of over-time work has gone by for a season, and I shall have a spare hour again to turn the leaves of my private note-book. The following, which narrates the nearest approach to an act of gallantry or heroism I remember to have ever performed, I find is an old entry. But it is none the worse for that. Like a number of lads who get into the habit of reading a certain kind of novel, I had developed a strong desire to go to sea and be a sailor; which was very strange, my parents used to say, considering that I had a very evident aversion to water. That, of course, was an insinuation which I had the spirit to resent with a youthful scowl and frown, if I lacked the courage necessary to its repudiation in words. I was really fond of water, and would have gone bathing three times a day all the year round, if all the year round we could have had warm summer days. It was the mere sponging of the face and hands which scorned to practise. But my parents did not understand me, and so tried to laugh the fancy out of my young head. And they succeeded in a great measure; which would seem to prove that it was only the certain kind of novel which put the fancy there. When, however, I had grown a little older and had gone to work, and my first annual holidays came round, I was to be let off on a long sail—I thought it a long sail then—from Glasgow to a place called Otter Ferry. I had an uncle who stayed there, close by the side of the sea. With him I was to spend a week. The night before my departure I was in high spirits. I tried to read what the sky promised for the next day, and, having set our little alarm clock to go off at five next morning—the boat sailed a little after seven—l went early to bed. Like a healthy youth with a light heart and a clear conscience, I was soon away in the land of dreams. The morning came, and it looked to me not at all a promising morning. Or rather it was distinctly promising. It promised rain and high wind. Broken clouds were floating along the sky. No matter, I would go. I could sit in the cabin and look through the small windows. I completed my toilet, had breakfast, set off with my little travelling bag, and was soon sitting abaft the steamer. It did actually turn out a wet and windy day. The sky seemed very near to the earth, a wide spreading, dirty gray mantle. When we got out to the sea it was a bit rough, and I just felt the sensation of being “rocked on the cradle of the deep.” It rained too, so I went down stairs and into the cabin. This looked to me to be an exceedingly pretty place, something like a drawing-room on a large scale. Ladies and gentlemen were reclining here and there upon the easy seats. But amongst them there was a pretty little miss just about my own age, or perhaps a little older. She sat chatting cheerily to an elderly gentleman whom I took to be her father, who was smiling and listening to her conversation in a good-humoured way, nodding his head approvingly and breaking in with an occasional monosyllable. I can’t remember now exactly what the pretty young lady was like, but I know that I thought her “awfully” pretty, and that, somehow, I felt desperately in love with her. I would have given worlds for an introduction. But there was no chance of that just then. If only I were a full-grown man, I thought, I could easily find something to say to her kindly old father, and then get to know where my fair one was going to. My heart almost stood still with fear every time the steamer came to a stopping-place, lest she should go off and leave me. But she did not. At length I came to the end of my long sail, and she was there still. Now, there is, or was at that time, no pier at Otter Ferry, and this is how the passengers are landed. Never more than half-a-dozen people go off there, the place is so very small, and it has nothing about it to make it popular. The steamer is brought to a stand away out in the water, fully a mile from shore. A large-sized lifeboat is rowed alongside by two old boatmen. Into this lifeboat the passengers descend by means of a ladder. They are then rowed to the landing-place. So it was in my experience, but to us it was a fearful passage. My delight can be easily imagined when I saw my little sweetheart get down into this lifeboat with me. The gentleman I had taken for her father did not come, though. He bade her goodbye, and cautioned her to take care of herself. He would tell her father that he had seen her safely landed. Alas did not know what was to happen. He did not seem to think that, near as we were to the dry land, there were angry waves to be ridden before we reached it. Four passengers and two broad planks of wood were let down into our tiny boat; for it did seem tiny in that angry sea. The pretty little miss with whom I was so deeply in love was seated by my side. Then the boatmen began to pull for the shore, and the steamer sailed away. The rain had passed off, but the dirty sky still hung very low, and the wind was so cold that it brought tears to my eyes. It seemed to me that the sea had grown furious. The waves tossed us about unmercifully, and every now and again my breath would be cut by the heavy spray. Yet, curiously enough, I had no fear. Once my sweet companion caught me tightly by the arm as the boat gave a great heave, and I said, encouragingly, “That’s right ; hold fast to me and you are safe.” “Oh,” she said, “we shall be drowned.” To which I replied, laughing, “You shan’t; take precious good care of that.” Then our boat got thrown round almost broadside to the waves, and the one boatman gave a loud, I thought angry, shout to the other. But the words were in a strange language. I did not understand them. I confess I felt quite indifferent to the danger. Yet I did think of a possible wreck, and I made certain observations. I saw that the two planks in our boat were broad and long and strong, and I noticed that the waves were rolling towards the shore. No sooner had I made certain little arrangements in my own mind as to what I would do in the case of emergency, than a great wave lifted the boat almost out of the water, and the spray blinded me for an instant. Without knowing very well what I did, I seized hold of my little loved one round the waist with my right arm, and laid firm hold of one of the broad planks with my left. I was just in time. The boat gave an ugly lurch; I heard loud cries; something struck me on the face; and, holding fast to my treasure, I felt myself go plunge into the cold sea. Suddenly I awakened to the consciousness that I was not in the cold sea at all, but in my warm bed, that my elder brother was standing over me, pressing a sponge of cold water all over my face and down my neck, and crying “Get up, or you’ll miss the boat. The alarm has gone off half an hour ago.” When seated at breakfast—it was real this time—he asked me what I meant by crying, when I awoke, “Is she saved?” I said I had no recollection of crying anything. Then I narrated my dream; and, what do you think —my mother would not allow me to go the sail that day. J. R. Sherwood.”—Ardrossan Herald, December 1, 1899
The pier at Otter Ferry
It was not, however, until 1900 that a pier was opened at Otter Ferry, about a mile north of the village. Calls were made by the Lord of the Isles but their frequency was reduced in 1902 to twice weekly when the Turbine Steamers began to encroach. The Columba was scheduled with a two-hour stop at Ardrishaig in 1903 and two days a week, offered a call at Otter Ferry with a coach connection to Tighnabruaich where the Columba could be boarded to continue the return to the Clyde.
Greenock Telegraph, July 20, 1903
Iona at Otter Ferry (Spencer)
From 1904 until the beginning of the first World War, it was Iona that called. The pier did not open for passengers after the war but calls by the Lochfyne cargo steamers continued until 1948.
McCrorie, Ian; Monteith, Joy. Clyde Piers, Inverclyde District Libraries, Greenock, 1982.