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Published: September 2nd 2016
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The strong women of Shetland come from a long line of strong women and traditions and culture. They sing and dance and work and are creative and make do, like anywhere else but it is the sea and weather that surrounds these small islands that affects the decisions of daily life. Other women have moved on to the Islands from America, Yorkshire and other places. They've made their lives within the community. All of the women are supportive, open-minded, strong in voice and nature. It is good to be in the company of such women who support one another and are not afraid to be themselves.
It is late August, the orchas have left the islands' seas.
A seagull has been in a fight. He's had his tail feathers ripped clean out and his wing is not so good. He may be going down. So we feed him.
The cool early morning breeze blows strongly enough to see the sea waves, the flags constantly waving to the North on the masts of the yachts in the harbour whilst the people bend into it. Sitting in the bay window, three levels above the street,I find
that it is peaceful floating above the breeze.
A good friend invited me to stay in her home - a place that hypnotises everyone who walks through the door with its rare beauty. It is here, after 3 days of staying on this island which lies closer to Norway than the UK, I find myself again. This safe place, a very kind friend and a rugged island have given me my thoughts back.
I mark the days by things to be grateful for and experiences that have left impressions that I won't forget.
Sunday, the 8am ferry crossing from Lerwick to Bressay, ferries only. me, a Hungarian Painter and decorator and four lads returning home after a night out. They silently leave the ferry, lumbering up to their waiting unlocked car.
By the road side, is an old But n ben house. It is fenced and gated off. The roof tiles have been removed recently, maybe last year or ten years ago - they lie across the ground, are stacked inside the window sills and on the shelf. From inside the shell of the house, looking out of the square
window, I feel the presence of the people who used to live here, who used to look out of that window waiting for a man or woman or child to return. A trace of wallpaper is visible. The outside gate is inside. Two rooms and three windows for a family. The front of the house laid out in the traditional way with a door in the centre and a room on either side, a fireplace at each end. A croft house, just a croft house but much more.
Noss is my aim. it is a small bird sanctuary island off the the east of coast of Bressay. There's a four mile walk from the ferry to the other side of the island and I've already been distracted by the croft house. At the coast edge, I wait for the ferry man. He waves, he's seen me and turns the rubber dinghy round to collect me. It's a short trip from one island to the other but it is over 28 hours of travel from my hometown in Yorkshire involving 2 trains, an overnight ferry, a sleep, a small ferry, a four mile hike then a rubber dingy
crossing a choppy sea to step on to this tiny island so far removed from my hometown that I find myself again. Craig is a warden on the island, he ferries the dinghy, mends things around the place, introduces the island to tourists, explains where the best sightings for the birds are, how the terrain lies and how to get back for the last ferry. Two wardens take it in turns and they live there the whole summer in the old Jamieson's house which is the visitor centre. I remember every word he says but instead of walking around the island looking at the thousands of birds, I collect empty crab shells that cover the island like litter. I look, I watch the sea, I forage, I sit down and breath in this place.
Ina will be 80 next year. I carry her library books to the touring library van that comes once a month. In the van, I pick out 2 books that I'd like - one lace knitting book, one hap knitting book and then choose a Bronte story tape because Ina can't see the small print. She never chooses knitting books because she's an
awesome knitter who has knitted probably 75 years of her living 80. You can't sell coals to Newcastle or ice to eskimo's or knitting books to Ina but she goes along with me. Ina has a strong Island character and I am cheeky but I think she likes it. I'm shouting, 'Come On Ina,' everywhere we go and she comes back with, 'I'll clap you round the lug 'oles' but she'd have to catch me first. We go to the West of the Island to Sandness to the Jaimieson's wool mill. I'm encouraged to buy something from the sale bin, that I thought I didn't like but it turns out that I really do like it. Back at Ina's she finds me the christening shawl she knitted for her children over 60 years ago. It has holes in places but it is a very beautiful thing. It has a real life and story. Ina thinks it will end up in a black bin bag for charity but I know it will be cherished. Before we leave, Ina shows me around her rough terrain garden with soft fruits, poly tunnel, tomatoes, grapes, flowers and shrubs where once there was nothing. Not
a thing but turf.
On Tuesday, you can take the girl out of Sheffield but Sheffield comes to Lerwick in the form of Richard Hawley - what a night. His charisma drew the Shetlanders in but he must have wondered what he said at one point when a great heard of people left just before the end. He would not have know that they were going to catch the last ferry out of Lerwick for Bressay, like a bus, but I did. I'm learning the ways and times of the Islanders.
Yesterday, was the last afternoon before the 7pm ferry. Barbara and I went to Spiggie beach in the south. We clambered over the dunes to come up close to a great gang of seals lounging in the bay. So many seals that it seams normal to me but how can this be normal to a Yorkshire lass. They roll and stretch and dive and swim. One shows off by leaping out of the sea five or more times in front of us and swimming in leaping lines. It's a blissful joy. Some seals swim lengths in front of us then bob up and down, curious
but staying a short distance out. I'm so happy that I forget the time and day.
later, at home, I read this, 'If we want to create spaces that are safe for the soul, we need to understand why the soul so rarely shows up in everyday life.'
These few things that I have touched on, skimmed over are there - always on the Shetland Islands but I have come to know the way of life a little more each time I visit and latterly it is due to the kindness of Barbara that I get to be part of these incredible moments. I'm beyond grateful to her for this kindness.
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