Place names on the Isle of Lewis in Outer Hebrides reflect a shared past over centuries between Gaelic-speaking Scots, Norse and latecomers from the south. Each evokes weather forecasts of old on crackling Radio 4 signals: Arnol, Ballantrushal, Barvas, Shawbost, Dalbeg and Branahuie, Newmarket, and Plasterfield.

Today, much of the conversation on Lewis is filled with talk of independence. Last week, 250 neighbours gathered in Stornoway, the capital, for a debate hosted by the local Gazette newspaper. "Ninety-nine voted Yes; ninety-nine voted No. Five were undecided, and the rest did not bother to vote," says one local.

For many in Lewis and the other islands in the Western Isles, along with Orkney and Shetland, the referendum has offered the chance to press for devolution not just from London but from Edinburgh.

But the trend has, if anything, gone the other way under the Scottish National Party. European Union funds are now distributed by Edinburgh rather than Inverness. Fire brigades and ambulance services have merged. And the merger of Scotland’s police forces has been deeply unpopular in the Highlands and Islands – particularly the decision by Chief Constable Stephen House to routinely have armed police on the streets.

Last year, Scotland's islands – which are all remote, although Shetland is blessed with oil riches – produced a report, Our Islands, Our Future, which pressed for extra powers.

In June, the Scottish government offered the islands control of all income from leasing the seabed for wind farms, piers, etc – money that currently goes to the crown estate.

Disquiet

The Edinburgh government has pledged that control of planning out to 12 nautical miles would be devolved to local partnerships, “with the island councils playing a role”.

The referendum has offered a welcome opportunity to push for concessions but it has also caused disquiet. “People are careful who they talk with,” says another local. “It has caused problems. You need to be a bit careful.”

Local Free Church of Scotland minister Iver Martin, who intends to vote No on September 18th, would prefer a clear, decisive verdict.

“If it’s a 52/48 split, or something like that, then there will be residual bitterness if Yes is beaten. For some people it has become quite an obsession. There will be an agitation for some time to come.”

Martin is equally fearful of a narrow win by the No side. When inevitable problems occur, he says, “The 49 per cent will say, ‘I told you so – don’t blame me, I voted No.’

“If there was 80 or 90 per cent of people behind this, then I would feel a lot more comfortable about it all,” he says, adding: “Whatever happens, I will do my bit to make it work.”

Half-an-hour away in Shawbost, former Labour minister Brian Wilson sits surrounded by Harris tweed – the symbol of the Outer Hebrides, which is enjoying something of a renaissance.

“It is the only product in the world with its own Act of Parliament,” says Wilson, who was one of three to take over the struggling mill seven years ago.

The tweed must, by law, be handwoven by the islanders of Lewis, Harris, Uist and Barra in their own homes using pure virgin wool that has been dyed and spun in the Outer Hebrides.

The wool is sold globally, finding its way not only into clothing, as it has done for centuries, but, increasingly, into furniture, shoes – even slippers.

Bully

Wilson, who lives on Lewis but writes a political column for the

Scotsman

, is no fan of Scottish first minister and Scottish National Party leader

Alex Salmond

.

“He has traded on an avuncular image for years and got away with it. His main characteristic, however, is that he is a bully,” says Wilson, who was a minister in one of Tony Blair’s governments.

Salmond was never a significant figure in the House of Commons during his two sessions in Westminster: “He was a small fish in a big pond,” says Wilson. “That’s why he came back.” Scotland under the Scottish National Party, he says, is a place “where the state and party are meshed, where resistance and dissent are unwelcome and are methodically closed down”.

Back in Stornoway, the Yes, Scotland campaign office, near the Criterion pub, has a steady stream of callers: some offering to help on voting day, others asking for brochures to take away.

Scottish MP Alistair Allan and local councillor John McKeever have campaigned for independence for decades. “I

think we feel that we have put our lives into this,” says Allan. “It would be fantastic if it happened, I couldn’t put it into words,” says McKeever, who joined Labour in the 1970s but left because “we were told what to do all the time”.

If Scots reject independence, McKeever says, “The Saltire’s appearance over Downing Street this week will be the only time that it will happen for the next 30 years.”

“If we turn it down, it will be quite embarrassing. We will be the first country in the world to turn down the chance of our own independence,” he says.

What about Quebec?

“Quebec isn’t a country,” he says.