shewhomust | Two short walks and an excursion

It rained overnight, and we thought it would carry on for the next couple of days, but this morning was dry if not, at first, bright, and we decided to risk a short walk. The road that had brought us to Varda runs out past the next farm, where a kink in the long sea inlet called the Whale Firth creates a small beach. This looked promising on the map, but when we got to the end of the road, we were less tempted by the scramble down to the beach than by a grassy lane that ran along the hillside:

That's the view looking back, north along the Whale Firth: beyond the stacks at the end is the Atlantic.

We hoped that the lane would bring us out close to a memorial signposted from the road; and it probably would have done, if we had had the confidence to carry on over the open moorland when the fenced track came to an end. Instead we turned back the way we had come. But I wasn't disappointed, because the whole way was so rich in wild flowers. Not counting the bluebells not yet gone from the field by the road, and the marsh marigolds above the wall which bordered the lane, I counted:

primroses - past their best; they must have been wonderful a week or two ago,

buttercups

daisies

clover

cow parley (I think - the white flowers visible in the photo)

Lady's smock

tormentil

orchids - lots of orchids, which the leaflet about Shetland's wild flowers says are likely to be Heath Spotted orchids

lousewort (prettier than i t sounds)

and something tiny and a deep gentian blue which I haven't identified yet (it doesn't seem to be what I thought it was.
ETA: Aha! Not milkweed, milkwort!

We heard, repeatedly, what sounded like a curlew, but never saw it, so I'm not sure...

After a cup of coffee, we were ready to go out again in search of the memorial to Peerie Willie Johnson, this time taking the car:

'Peerie' means 'little', and it does sound like something you'd make up, a legendary Shetland bluesman who sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads; but he was a real musician, and when I have more bandwidth I look forward to hearing him play with Aly Bain and Michael Marra's song, Schenectady calling Peerie Willie Johnson. The memorial overlooks - I think - the site of the house where he was born, and includes stones from that house. Other than that, there is no obvious sign that there was once a house there - which is in no way unique, hereabouts.

We crossed to the far - though not very far - side of the island, the east coast, to see a very different memorial, often used as a representative of Yell:

The 'White Wife' is the figurehead of the German ship 'Bohus' wrecked off Yell in 1924, erected as a memorial to the four people killed in the wreck. It's a short, and only occasionally boggy, walk down from the road to where she stands, clutching her bible and gazing at the treacherous coastline. The turf is strewn with wisps of wool, and studded with flowers. The thrift is just beginning to come into bloom, and a few sprigs of squill may have been the high point of my morning:

This was enough excitement for one day. We called at the shop in Mid Yell to buy some milk, we decided that Shetland's most haunted house could wait, we had a late lunch and a quiet afternoon with books.