BACK in November, I wrote a column in these pages about news that 15 Syrian families were to be taken from the chaos and desperation of a Lebanese refugee camp and resettled on Bute. The story raised eyebrows, if you remember, because wee Scottish islands are not usually the sort of places that rehome refugees; I wished all those involved well.

Two of the families found themselves at the centre of a media storm last week when they appeared in the pages of the Daily Mail. The island was, according to one 35-year-old Syrian woman, full of old folk and a place where people “come to die”. Her husband, who was a businessman in Syria before war engulfed their homeland, said that for the last seven months there had been “nowhere to go. There is no movement, there is nothing. I am not bored anymore. I am depressed now. I feel like I have one option now – to die here. Only die here, nothing else.” Another family admitted they couldn’t wait to move to Glasgow or Manchester.

Unsurprisingly considering the anti-immigration stance of many English-based papers, the tone of the article was spun to suggest the refugees were somehow being ungrateful and offensive, that considering all the energy and expense the authorities had spent to get them here, they should think themselves lucky and keep their mouths shut.

Detractors on the other side, meanwhile, also went full pelt, rubbishing the article, insisting the refugees had been abused and misquoted by the journalist involved, that everything in Rothesay was rosy.

Now, I’ve not personally spoken to any of the Syrian families on the island, but I know people who have, and it is surely to be expected, considering the horrific events they have gone through, that their experiences since arriving on Bute have been varied and complex to say the least. With this in mind, it is entirely possible that the truth lies somewhere in between, that what they said was honest and accurate. And, just as importantly, that we, the hosts, should be ready and willing to accept their comments.

It is a simple fact that many people who live in Rothesay are elderly, that there is little skilled work to be found on the island, and that it is probably a tough place to spend a winter if you don’t speak the language and previously lived in a big city. Surely it is acceptable, when you have survived a war that has taken almost everything from you, to admit that you are struggling to cope with a new way of life? When you are traumatised and miss your homeland, the way of life you are used to, the work that fulfilled and sustained you, when the initial euphoria at moving from a refugee camp wears off, it must be hard to stay positive about the future.

I don’t doubt that the majority of people of Rothesay and Bute have been kind to their new Syrian neighbours, have tried their best to provide the sort of support and services they will need. And I don’t doubt that every single one of the 15 families now making a new life on Bute is thankful for this. But we need to put this into perspective. Rothesay, once the most popular holiday destination in Scotland, has struggled to find a place in the modern world; its economy is far from thriving. Though the beauty of island life no doubt provides comfort, it also, I'm sure, can be dispiriting.

To be clear, the tone of the article in question made me mad, particularly because you could foresee the brouhaha it was all going to cause. You can’t imagine the refugees would want to offend their hosts; if they were depressed before, they’re probably even more so now.

But instead of rushing to insist the Syrians had been misquoted, perhaps the councils and charities who support them should be asking themselves what more they can practicably do to help create meaningful job opportunities for these people. And if that happens to be in Glasgow or Manchester, where there are more Arabic speakers, then so be it – they should provide them with support to move there.

This stooshie also, I believe, highlighted something rather uncomfortable about Scots. Why do we continually feel the need for people to reiterate how wonderful Scotland is? I can’t help but think this attitude underlines the deep under-confidence in Scots that I thought we were moving away from, that unpleasant “wha’s like us” neediness.

Why can’t we simply offer a hand of support to genuinely needy people for its own sake, without expecting a thousand thank yous in return? I look forward to the day when we can. It will certainly save those we choose to help a whole heap of embarrassment.