News from Nowhere

The Ellis Peters which I bought from the cats' charity shop in Stromness is The Piper on the Mountain. I had been looking out for it since I plunged down a number of rabbit holes in contemplation of Black is the Colour of my True Love's Heart, the novel which Peters wrote next.

Life being full of coincidences, pipers kept cropping up as we toured the sites of Neolithic Orkney - well, two of them did, and here they are:



On the right, the lady who was playing her recorder to the cows by the path down from the Ring of Brodgar: the cows didn't seem interested, but I stopped to listen. Eventually she gave up. "My cows at home always gather round when I play to them," she complained (giving away that 'home' was the US). On the left, part of the decorative tile surround from the 'Bishop's Bedroom' in Skaill House: there was clearly a musical theme going on, because one of the other figures was playing a stringed instrument, but naturally it was this piper who caught my attention - though, again, not that of the local livestock, who are turning their backs in a pointed manner. (I don't really think they are puffins, though I can see how you might get that impression...)

Anyway, the book: it begins with a man falling off a mountain in Slovakia. His name is Herbert Terrell, and he is on holiday from his job at a quasi-governmental high tech institute. Soon it is suggested that his death was not the accident it appeared, and was related to a brilliant colleague (of Slovak origins) who had previously vanished. A fellow mountaineering enthusiast is sent off to investigate, with the completely unofficial approval of the government So far, so James Bond.

The narrative, though, follows the even more unofficial endeavours of four young people. Twins Christine and Toddy are planning a road trip to continental Europe, and each of them has invited a friend. Christine's choice is Tossa, who is the step-daughter od Herbert Terrell; they were not close, but guilt about this makes her more, rather than less, concerned about what happened to him, and she nudges the party into visiting the mountains of Slovakia. The twins don't seem to notice that they are being manipulated, but the fourth member of the party does: he is Dominic Felse, the son of Peters' series detective, Inspector George Felse, so the novel can be loosely included in that series, although the Inspector appears only in his influence on Dominic's outlook. His inclination is to trust the forces of law and order, which is at odds with Tossa's suspicions, creating a tension which plays alongside his attraction in making him hyper-aware of her. The twins' do not notice anything beyond their jolly holiday, which is odd, but adds to the book's 'Five have fun in Slovakia' flavour.

The book was published in 1966, which must have been a great time to have fun in Slovakia. These are the years before the Prague Spring, and its abrupt suppression. The group skip past Prague in a single day, and head for the mountains: the scenery is enticing, the prices are low, the locals are hospitable. The awareness that this is an Eastern Bloc country adds spice to the trip, but doesn't particularly restrict their movements. If anything, the young people's mistrust of the authorities (Dominic is the lone dissenter) justifies their continued independent action which is essential to the plot.

Considered in the light of its sequel, The Piper on the Mountain underlines just how very new a couple Dominic and Tossa are. There is also the bonus of folk music content. Dominic recognises the tune which he has heard the piper playing on the mountain: it is Bushes and Briars. There is also some interesting ethnomusicological information about Slovakian pipes; the six-finger-holed labial pipe, the end-hole koncovka, the ragman's whistle and more...

Perfect holiday reading, in fact.

The plan, since D. had invited us to celebrate his birthday in Aberdeenshire, was to sneak in a week in Orkney beforehand (because once you are in Aberdeenshire, you might as well); then we could catch the overnight ferry on Monday, and be with D. for the morning of his birthday. And a very good plan it is, too: except that as the week goes on, warnings about Monday night's weather become less and less encouraging. We currently have an amber warning for storm Floris (who sounds less like a storm than the hero of a Victorian fairy tale) and a message from Northlink Ferries, saying they'll be in touch in the morning.

Perhaps it's because this was on our minds that we were so easily discouraged from island-hopping today. We'd planned to take the ferry to Shapinsay as foot passengers, but the forecast was for rain, it was raining when we woke up, and pottering about doing nothing in particular is less fun in the rain. So we made alternative plans.

Of course, by the time we had lingered over breakfast just a little too late to take the ferry we had intended, the sky was clearing, and it went on to be another beautiful day. But never mind, all the better to enjoy our drive to the South Isles. We started with a visit to the Italian Chapel, which continues to charm, despite the presence of Other People (some of them in groups, with guides). Then across the sequence of Churchill Barriers, causeways slung across the darkly glittering sea, ringed by low green hills on all sides, and just the shadow of the higher hills beyond. We stopped in St Margaret's Hope, and saw that The Creel is on the market again - and so is the Old Bank House, across the road. Such stuff as dreams are made on... The Community Garden is still looking good, too; and we lunched on lentil soup at Robertsons.

We weren't quite ready to call it a day, so we detoured to the beach at Scapa:



Bright still, if not as bright, and getting breezier; those clouds must mean something. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

This evening we have relocated to Kirkwall; so we have been making the most of our time in Finstown to explore West Mainland. Yesterday we made a circuit around the outside; today we drove straight up the middle, through the 'Heart of Neolithic Orkney'.

Yesterday began with a failure: it's as well to get these things out of the way early. I wanted to visit the Eviedale Bakehouse, whose sourdough sounded like a good purchase for our picnic dinner, or maybe we'd lunch on the spot on the ir pizza... Well, neither of the above, because they were closed. The helpful man in the shop opposite sold us a reviving coffee and explained that they prepare the sourdough Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and then open Thursday, Friday and - oh, no wait, today's Thursday, isn't it?

Things improved. Thanks to a tip off from E., we visited Betty's Reading Room: we must have passed within yards of it last time we took the ferry to Rousay, but it's a modest little building and well hidden:



Inside, though, it is full of books. A sign entreated us to take one, and I had been eyeing a Penguin edition of Chesterton's essays and poetry, so I did; and, obeying another sign, stuck a bookplate in it, too. Next stop, Swannay Brewery, to purchase some cans to try, to sample some other beers (Dark Bere, unfortunately sold out, but the bere harvest is in and there will be more) and for an agreeable chat with the bartender (because Orkney is all about the chat). Then on to the Yellowbird Gallery, where there was, alas, no chat, but the birds were labelled "Please touch" and we did: mostly I still love the wooden birds best, but there was something very pleasing about the little round bronze bird, barely shaped, sized to nestle in the hand, heavier than you'd think... Lunch at the Orkney Brewery, and more purchases - and then, since the rain was settling in, we headed for Stromness and ended the day at the Museum.

This was all fun, but we had been driving round the island ignoring all the major sites, and this didn't seem right. So today we made amends, and visited the stones of Stenness, the Ring of Brodgar and Skara Brae. I spent much of my time admiring landscapes as view past, through, between the stones, and I took many pictures, most of which I want to tweak before I post them to Flickr, let alone here. We drove straight past the Ness of Brodgar (twice, once each way) but we only know that because - well, because we know it. The dig is closed, and the site covered with grass. Now we await publication. It was strange to walk through the introductory exhibition at Skara Brae, and think how impressive it was when it was new and shiny: and it still is impressive, but there's this big, Ness-shaped hole in the middle of it. We had a lovely day, the weather was kind, and I am so glad we didn't decide to miss seeing these things just because we had seen them before.

It turns out that reports of absence of internet were exaggerated: a cable has definitely been severed, and a trawler has owned up to severing it, but we have internet, and shops seem able to take our plastic money. Taking nothing for granted, but all well so far.

Two very different days. Yesterday a long drive north under milky skies. Dinner in Pitlochry had been richer than it should have been (I blame the raspberry cranachan sundae, and I should have known better) and neither of us slept well: so I snoozed through the first stage of the journey, as far as the outskirts of Inverness whre we charged the car and drank coffee at the adjacent garden centre. This revived us enough that we accepted the satnav's suggestion of an alternative route, slower but more economical - also, it turned out, more scenic:



We weren't sure - and in part are still not sure - whether we had ever been this way before. We drove through places with unfamiliar names, and saw sights we surely couldn't have forgotten. That view above, though, wasn't entirely unfamiliar. And we have driven to and from the north coast quite a few times. Not far short of the coast, just before we came out at Bettyhill, we realised that this stretch at least we had driven before, in the opposite direction.

I had wondered whether we would leave the rosebay willowherb behind as we drove into the highlands, but no, it continued as impressive as ever, great swathes of pink piled high on the verges (but never quite where the drives could be persuaded to stop for photographs). The further north we got, too, the more pink there was in the heather: can it really be past its peak further south? That seems impossibly early... One last twist as we drove along the ramp towards the ferry, and the rosebay gave way to great willowherb (which I had to look up, since I always think of it as codlins-and-cream...). And then we were on the ferry, and the less said about the catering the better, but we had a fine view of Hoy as we rounded the souh of the island and passed the Old Man.

Today we planned to take it easy, and went to Stromness for a little light shopping. We were distracted in Stenness village by the Maes Howe visitor centre, and though I'm not at the moment brave enough to crawl into Maes Howe, they had a very interesting display (mostly about the Ness of Brodgar, which they had offered a home when the dig on the Ness closed down) and we were glad we had dropped in. The shopping: durham_rambler bought an old-style bladed razor at the Co-op, I tracked down the hardware store which replaced my watch battery (and in the search for it dropped into a gallery or so); I succumbed to temptation and bought a couple of tote bags (prints by Jeanne Bouza Rose); books don't count, do they? (an Ellis Peters from the cats' charity shop, and Harry Josephine Giles Deep Wheel Orcadia from the Stromness Bookshop); we popped into the Pier Art Gallery because we could, and finally we returned to the Co-op to buy a picnic for our tea.

Come to think of it, it must be nearly tea time now...

You think there's nothing this government can do to surprise you, and then Lee Anderson suggests that if the Rwanda plan fails, we could send refugees to Orkney.

I can imagine many worse fates than being sent to Orkney: and I have found myself in conversation with islanders who were hungry for immigration (preferably with children, to maintain the local school): Mr Anderson seems to view it as a punitive measure. He proposes commandeering an uninhabited island. And of course, he refers to "the Orkneys".

For the record, this is not any random Conservative MP. this is the Deputy Chairman of the party.

Pumpkin time in Roscoff - and no two are alike!

And, in news of other harvests, Mrs Collinson has produced 1.5 kilos of tea from her plantation on Shapinsay.

In the Guardian, Charlotte Higgins takes the new Stonehenge exhibition at the BM as an excuse to visit Orkney. Well, you would, wouldn't you?

Tired of Wordle? Then try Wirdle, the Shetland dialect version.

I had not realised that this year is also the centenary of the birth of George Mackay Brown until, looking through the listings for something to entertain me while I peeled sprouts for dinner, I came across this half hour programme on Radio 3: composer Erland Cooper and Daniel Pioro wander around the islands with a violin, interspersed with clips of George Mackay Brown reading his poems and being interviewed by Sue MacGregor. This being radio, you have to supply your own pictures, but we can do that ...

...loves its Archives.

(Actually from three weeks ago, but it amused me today - you've probably already seen it):

Orkney Library tweets...