24 July 2024

A last little frenzy of domestic activity, running a machine load with my sheets. And a slow meander down to the jetty. Red clover gleams in the early morning light, the raggletaggle farm buildings all look beautiful to me today.

Cloud – that will burn off – is hanging over the Rousay peaks, small clouds fill the vast horizons. Low light shows up Rousay’s terraces.

See https://ferries.orkney.com/attractions/glacial-terracing-on-rousay for an explanation of the geology.

I have no idea if I will ever return to the island. But I have left one small segment of coast undone, ready for a return trip should that happen. Sense of gratitude and a kind of completion is immense.

Vicky, who I cross at Tingwall, is now reunited with the mog. And happy with how things are in the garden. (No mention of the house!) I love this photo that she sent, so unlikely a portrait:

Civilisation beckons in the shape of a vast cruise ship, visible from Egilsay pier. On the bus, I can’t help noticing the absence of flowers in the verges. It feels like a desert. And so many metallic objects running on four wheels. I have been living in another world.

I use the hostel I stayed in previously as a left-luggage facility while I have a tourist day. Linda, covering for the owner, shares her life story with me over a fag. Once again I have a lengthy and pleasant encounter and time doesn’t seem to exist. Coming back to the hostel half an hour later, after I have sorted my hire bike, Linda is in the same place doing the same thing. “I haven’t been here all the time!” 

Cycling south is a slog against a head wind. I cut short my ride, stopping initially at a café overlooking Churchill’s Barrier where the grey £ is alive and well. Bored of the snackage that has sustained me for 2 weeks I go for broke: lobster roll, chocolate brownie, and flat white. It’s only 11:30 am but heh…

I’m close by the much-loved Italian Chapel, on Lambholm. See https://www.orkney.com/listings/the-italian-chapel  for the story of how 2WW Italian POW labour was used to create the concrete and stone barrier to Scapa Flow.

There is a description of camp life on one of the display boards: To make the camp more homely the prisoners laid concrete paths and planted flowerbeds. Outside the huts the men constructed concrete tables and benches so that they could eat outside when the Orkney weather allowed. To entertain themselves lavish productions such as "The Baker of Venice" were held in a makeshift theatre. They published a newspaper called Il Corriere delia Domenica (The Sunday Courier), played billiards on a home made concrete table and played bowls.

It sounds like rollicking fun from beginning to end. I think not. And I am very moved by the overwhelming theme of the painting – the desire for peace.

The relationship between Moena, where the artist was from, and Lambholm has continued, much like a twinning. There is an ongoing engagement between the two places. What a lovely story to have emerged from the pain and trauma.

I cycle back over the Churchhill Barrier wishing he had foreseen the need for a cycle or pedestrian lane. A horrible cycling experience, despite the view.

Back at Kirkwall I have a rather strange/ritzy end to my trip: cycling several miles out of the town and arriving wind-ruffled to have a very upmarket meal. It’s not really the best use of £ when so much of the pleasure of classy dining is to share the experience. My 5am start is catching up with me and I’m on edge prior to catching my 11:45pm ferry to Aberdeen. But when I am shown to my table overlooking Scapa Bay it begins to be ok.

Perennially confused by which bit of water I’m looking at I check the map:

Is it just me or is Orkney one hell of a complicated archipelago? 😁