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shewhomustOrkney is full of contrasts. Our home on Hoy was the Spinning Cottage at Melsetter House - the last homely house at the far end of the wildest and most rugged of the islands. You drive from the ferry south along the coast, and at the very end of the island, just before the Ayre - the causeway that carries the road to the connecting island of South Walls - you see the clustered roofs and gables of Melsetter. Turn up the lane, between the high wall and the open pasture, and in through the thicket of sycamores, round the corner of the house, and you find yourself looking out down a broad driveway. Ahead of you are the gates, leading out to the factor's house and other cottages, behind you is the Italianate courtyard and the house itself, to your left is the chapel and to your right is the Spinning Cottage. Now turn half-circle, and that's what you see in the picture:
Melsetter was built at the very end of the nineteenth century. Thomas Middlemore went into the family leather business in Birmingham, carried on where his father had left off in developing it into new areas (leather seats for bicycles), married Theodosia Mackay, who was involved in the Arts & Crafts movement - she was an embroiderer and weaver, and friend of May Morris (whose description of Melsetter provides the title of this post). In 1896, Middlemore sold the business, looked for somewhere in Scotland to build a house for himself and his wife - and bought Hoy. Architect William Lethaby took as his starting point an existing eighteenth century house, and developed into something which feels entirely natural and traditional, and yet is ingeniously planned to be both beautiful and comfortable, opening windows wide to the beautiful sea views yet giving shelter from the persistent cold winds. The house is privately occupied, but Miss Seatter, who lives there, was kind enough to show us round, and it was a delight to see the house maintained very much as it had been designed, with many of the original fabrics and pieces of furniture, not as a museum but as someone's home, kept unchanged because it was so much loved.
There are notoriously very few trees in Orkney; they do not grow well in the fierce winds. They huddle up to buildings taking shelter, instead of giving it. Nonetheless, Melsetter is surrounded by a narrow band of woodland ("I know people elsewhere don't like sycamores,"said Miss Seatter, "but we like them because they are so hardy"), and under the trees the bluebells were in full bloom - the first of the two bluebell woods we saw in the islands. When we walked down to the beach - which was neither the cove to the south of us nor the bay to the east, but a quarter hour's walk north to the sandy beach - we returned along the avenue lined with bluebells of all colours.
We went down to Longhope, to the shop. You drive back the way you came, down the lane with the high silver-grey stone wall to your right, the lush green of the farmland to your left, and ahead the luminous sapphire blue of the sea - and the red splash of the pillar box directly in front of you. At certain times the sun catches the bare branches of the trees and makes them gleam white as bone - but never when I was on foot and could photograph it. And the first time we went to Longhope, just as we turned onto the Ayre, a heron flapped in to land, to the indignation of the seagulls who buzzed it repeatedly. It ducked its head on its long neck, apparently unperturbed.
Melsetter was built at the very end of the nineteenth century. Thomas Middlemore went into the family leather business in Birmingham, carried on where his father had left off in developing it into new areas (leather seats for bicycles), married Theodosia Mackay, who was involved in the Arts & Crafts movement - she was an embroiderer and weaver, and friend of May Morris (whose description of Melsetter provides the title of this post). In 1896, Middlemore sold the business, looked for somewhere in Scotland to build a house for himself and his wife - and bought Hoy. Architect William Lethaby took as his starting point an existing eighteenth century house, and developed into something which feels entirely natural and traditional, and yet is ingeniously planned to be both beautiful and comfortable, opening windows wide to the beautiful sea views yet giving shelter from the persistent cold winds. The house is privately occupied, but Miss Seatter, who lives there, was kind enough to show us round, and it was a delight to see the house maintained very much as it had been designed, with many of the original fabrics and pieces of furniture, not as a museum but as someone's home, kept unchanged because it was so much loved.
There are notoriously very few trees in Orkney; they do not grow well in the fierce winds. They huddle up to buildings taking shelter, instead of giving it. Nonetheless, Melsetter is surrounded by a narrow band of woodland ("I know people elsewhere don't like sycamores,"said Miss Seatter, "but we like them because they are so hardy"), and under the trees the bluebells were in full bloom - the first of the two bluebell woods we saw in the islands. When we walked down to the beach - which was neither the cove to the south of us nor the bay to the east, but a quarter hour's walk north to the sandy beach - we returned along the avenue lined with bluebells of all colours.
We went down to Longhope, to the shop. You drive back the way you came, down the lane with the high silver-grey stone wall to your right, the lush green of the farmland to your left, and ahead the luminous sapphire blue of the sea - and the red splash of the pillar box directly in front of you. At certain times the sun catches the bare branches of the trees and makes them gleam white as bone - but never when I was on foot and could photograph it. And the first time we went to Longhope, just as we turned onto the Ayre, a heron flapped in to land, to the indignation of the seagulls who buzzed it repeatedly. It ducked its head on its long neck, apparently unperturbed.
