'Granny have you ever had an adventure?'
My young grandson was just leaving, having spent the day with me when he posed the question.
'I’ll have to have a wee think and tell you next time.'
It had been a day of adventure starting with rock pooling. He dipped his bucket into a pool and was delighted with the wriggling sea creatures. I’m sure his squeals of delight could be heard around the village when he managed to find crab after crab as he lifted up stones. Next was the play park and the climbing frame was the highest mountain in the world. At home we had our sandwiches in the garden under a makeshift tent.
'We’re real Cowboys, Granny.'
Adventures had been the theme at nursery that week and his imagination had taken him to scale mountains and discover lands with strange animals. What escapades had I undertaken that could possibly compete with his fertile imagination.
I had a eureka moment: Shetland. I have visited many times and have been lucky enough to work there for six months. It has very few trees but has other things in abundance. History, wildlife, folk tales, stunning beaches and landscapes. It did feel like a real adventure going there for the first time twenty four years ago; I had no idea what to expect. It was long before the television series Shetland was aired.
A car is a must and taking mine necessitated a thirteen hour ferry journey. I did have a concern how I’d fare on such a trip in very exposed waters but the boat felt very stable and I had a wonderful night’s sleep being gently rocked in my little cabin. It was a perfect summer’s morning of clear blue skies when I rolled off the ferry into Lerwick, the main town of the archipelago.
Before my adventure began though I had to stock up with food. There was a car park across the road from the supermarket and I thought I’d drive over and check out my bearings. What a complete surprise to realise it backed onto the sea. There were so many seals stretched out on the rocks, basking in the morning sunshine like Henry Moore sculptures. To this urban dweller it’s not the usual pre-shopping experience.
As I had lived outside of Scotland for some years at that point all the delights of my childhood – lorne sausage, black pudding, morning rolls and Ayrshire bacon – were purchased in enough quantities to feed an army of adventurers. Following a cuppa and another firm favourite, an Empire Biscuit, I felt ready to head out to find my rental cottage.
I say “felt ready” as I once saw a postcard showing a frustrated motorist in a traffic jam, but not a car jam but a sheep jam. Were the roads really overrun with sheep? There were no need for motorways and the further away from Lerwick the roads were often single track with passing places. The road down to the cottage was indeed filled with sheep. Life appeared to move at a different pace there.
It wasn’t just the sheep that captured this city dweller. I watched an otter nonchalantly walk between two stretches of water. An upturned boat was actually an orca. Puffins are entertaining in the summer months but less entertaining are the birds that dive bomb visitors as they inadvertently stray towards where they’re young are nesting.
My main reason for my trip to Shetland at that point in time was to visit a little island where my maternal relatives had lived from 1750 to 1970. It was accessed by a rather bumpy boat trip in what appeared to be a small fishing vessel. With rather shaky legs I got off and could see an unmade road snaking away from the pier. It initially led to a few white washed cottages where the remaining islanders live.
The road leads past prehistoric remains. This had become an archaeological site as there had been exciting findings of a Norse “Stofa”, a medieval house.
At the next bend was a tiny church. As I weaved in and out of the tombstones I felt as if I was gathering up the sorrows of previous generations. The tiny church seemed to expand inside as if to say “there’s room for you”. A stained glass window showed a fisherman and there was a plaque on the wall with the names of sailors lost at sea, both epitomising the island’s dependence on the sea.
It felt peaceful and safe within the confines of the church. I sat there for sometime just imagining the innumerable sorrows absorbed within the building but also life’s wonderful moments when witnessing a wedding or christening.
There was much more to explore such as sea caves but following my initial explorations I hunkered down in an area where the ruins of the remaining crofts were. Further lost in thought about the lives of my ancestors, their reliance on the sea for a living but also their contact with the outside world. Their sense of support within the community must have been essential, sharing the joys and sorrows of day to day life.
On leaving the island it felt as if I had left a bit of myself behind. I felt fortunate to be able to experience a sense of what previous generations' lives may have been like. It left me with a strong sense of continuity. Hopefully, this adventure can be passed onto my grandson and we can retrace my steps in story form but also perhaps for real one day.