This is the morning of Sunday, January 28, and a fine day it surely is. It’s one of those winter days when, if one didn’t know the time of year, it might be mistaken for a spring day. I suppose that for one thing the mild south-westerly wind creates this feeling; also a few little snow-drops are already in sight and the dark green leaves of the bluebells are giving a sign of life in the ground again, as the days slowly lengthen. But especially impressive is the sky which appears different from so many views as I cast my eye round the island. The southerly aspect has one spectacular darkish cloud which seems to explode upwards in colours of brown, ochre, greys, and pale yellows, behind which the sun is partly hidden, yet he throws one or two long beams earthwards and tips brightly the edges of cloud. Above me the sky is blue with white clouds here and there, and in the south west the high hills of other islands are blue and purple with Westray and Papa Westray positioned further west.

As I turn my gaze to the north and then on east, there is a green tinge in the sky above the horizon – usually a sign of rain – and coloured clouds climb and fall in all sorts of interesting ways. On I look past the new and old lighthouses, the Fair Isle and from east to south, where the sky colours change again above the deep blue of the surrounding sea.

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.
John Masefield

I suppose islanders are always on the look-out for a passing ship, and today I can see two that are far away. One with a high, white superstructure, with the rest of the vessel hidden below the horizon, caught the bright morning sun and looked almost like a sailing ship. The initial illusion set me briefly day-dreaming. How wonderful it would be, I thought, to voyage as a passenger on one of those great wind-driven ships of the past: to listen every day to the humming or roaring of the wind in the high rigging; to see the tall masts with their white acres of sail swing mightily against sunny skies; or to see them like great billowing ghosts in the light of the moon. How she would go pitching and flying majestically along in the Roaring Forties, or maybe up north to where the Northern Lights dance among the stars.

Well, here I am writing a second letter in January – I wanted to ‘tap the keys’ before this month of Burns had gone and when recent events were not too far away. At this time of year when George Mackay Brown was penning his weekly letter to The Orcadian, he frequently had something to say about Burns: “One always likes to honour that truly great man”, he says in one of his letters. John Firth, writing in the 1800s, in his book, Reminiscences of an Orkney Parish, quotes from Burns, as does Edith Holden in her book, Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady. I was also looking through, An Orkney Anthology – Selected Works, of Ernest W. Marwick, (died 1977) edited by John D. M. Robertson, and published 1990, to see if he happened to mention the poet – nothing in this book, but in any case I know that Ernest’s views about Burns were the same as GMB’s. I expect though that in the second, planned volume of this distinguished Orcadian’s work (Ernest) “Essays and Comment”, for which I and many others have been patiently waiting these past years, he might.

However, when I was having a look through this magnificent first anthology, there is a comprehensive account of games that used to be played in Orkney which includes singing games, riddles and rhymes. Picko and Lee-Lo-Ley were two I remember that were great fun and played on the extensive, grassy, school playground – most of which is now a car park. In my last letter I mentioned games that are more universal – ones which I thought were possibly no longer being played at Christmas. In fact a few still are as I discovered, and others I named are played but more so at birthday parties.

Here are the ones that are maybe not so familiar – plus one or two extra that Ella remembers when she lived in North Ronaldsay before and after the Second World War (1939-1945): Here we come gathering Nuts and May, There were three knights came out of Spain, Looby Loo, I sent a letter to my Love, and Bobby Bingo (not Bingo as I said in my last letter). Others that have been mentioned are surely still played: games like Tail on the Donkey, Blind man’s Buff, Dropping the Hankie, Oranges and Lemons, London Bridge is falling Down, and of course, The Grand old Duke of York. I was just thinking that possibly the lack of children on the island would make some of those games unplayable here, but then all the old fogeys like myself (no, I really think that we are not all old fogeys at all) will just have to ‘fetch way’ and have a go next time round – why not indeed! Suppose for a moment that we don’t look that much older as time goes by – what then? Anyway, I’ve always thought it would be so much fun for all of us, of all ages, to have a real old fashioned Hallowe’en party or whatever. Actually I’ve just remembered that last year I was dooking for apples by the light of neepy lanterns – that was fun, and the bairns there were greatly allured with the whole affair. We forgot though, the paper-wrapped coins in clapshot that we always used to have at our parties, threepenny bits and silver sixpences.

Upon that night, when Fairies light.
On Cassilis Downans dance.
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursers prance;

My mention of Hallowe’en brings me, quite neatly I think, to Robert Burns – the above verse begins his poem “Halloween”. The poem explains in some detail how the Eve of All Saints Day (October 31) was celebrated in all its glory in his day. There are, by the way, interesting parallels with this work and his acknowledged masterpiece, “Tam o’ Shanter” – even in the above verse one can see a similar turn of phrase. Now it’s time, high time, as Sarah o’ Lochend often said when she thought folk should be getting a move on, to tell you about our Burns Supper which was held on Friday, January 26.

This celebration turned out to be a memorable event. The haggis was carried in once again by the chief cook Winnie Scott with Sinclair Scott playing the pipes – a grand and proper beginning to a Burns supper. The piper’s dram was ready and taken, and we all then enjoyed a very admirable presentation of the ‘Address to the Haggis’ by the first of our guests, John Sinclair. John is building inspector with the OIC and North Ronaldsay is one of his favourite areas for visits. Jimmie Thomson recited the Selkirk Grace to be followed by the wonderful clapshot and haggis supper. Cider was the accompanying drink, and was added to a little later by respectable drams served ready for the toast of the evening.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise,
For if ye do but taste his blood,
‘Twill make your courage rise.
From “John Barleycorn” by Burns

I always think that atmosphere plays an important part at any function, if not a noticeable part then without doubt it does psychologically – as Johnny o’ Holland might have said, and for a Burns night it’s certainly worth the effort if one can manage this. A few of us got together, including some ex-pats (as they say), to decorate a small room in the community centre. It’s funny, but when I mentioned ex-pats somehow the Scots song “Sailing up the Clyde” comes to mind – and these are the words I’m remembering,

Sailing up the Clyde, sailing up the Clyde,
Back to bonny Scotland where the old folks bide.

One has just to change Clyde to Firth and Scotland to Rinansay. We used to have the song on an old 78 rpm record away back in the forties — without our islanders and other friends from across the water I sometimes wonder where we would be. Well, between candles and oil lamps, maybe 20 tartan rugs, a ceiling of red paper-roses, pictorial scenes from some of Burns well known poems with the Bard’s portrait prominently displayed, we managed to create the desired effect.

In this atmosphere then, our guest speaker Jocky Wood, who was accompanied by his wife Fiona, rose to give The Immortal Memory. Jocky, deputy head teacher at Stromness Academy and a teacher of English, delivered the sort of speech that remains so firmly lodged in the mind. His combination of special Orcadian humour expressed in a couple of classic stories that connected with North Ronaldsay, Finstown and Burns, and his sometimes moving references to Robert Burns and his life, were beautifully judged and perfectly timed. Highlighted was the poet’s concern for the fellow creatures that share our lives – expressed so finely in, “To a Mouse” and for humanity itself, as Jocky said, in, “For a’ that and a’ that”. At this point he suggested that possibly Burns is more widely read than the Bible itself, illustrated by the fact that the poet is celebrated in Russia and Japan, and throughout the world – a world though, he continued, in which even over the 240 years since Burns was born, is full of trouble, wars, cruelty and starvation. Jocky Wood ended his tribute by quoting those desirable and visionary words from the last poem mentioned above,

That man to man, the world o’er,
Shall brothers be for a’ that!

He then asked everyone to be upstanding and drink the toast to Robert Burns.
The “Toast to the Lasses” was proposed by Sinclair (our piper) and replied to by Jenny Mainland. Both had been approached at the eleventh hour, due to a technical hitch, with no time for the prerequisite consultation. No matter, all was managed very adequately.

Our fourth guest, Fionn McArthur, then took up a position in the light of the oil-lamps with his fiddle at the ready. Fionn, who works for Radio Orkney, comes from a musical family. He developed his gift in playing the instrument under the tutorship, firstly of his music-teacher grandmother, and later amongst others, the well known fiddler, Angus Grant, from the North West coast of Scotland. Fionn chose, appropriately, a selection of tunes by the famous Scottish composer, Neil Gow – a contemporary and friend of Burns. With a few words of explanation now and again, he proceeded to entertain the company with some very fine fiddle playing indeed. Especially beautiful was his interpretation of “Neil Gow’s Lament written on the death of his second wife”, played in the flickering light of lamp and candle.

The programme continued with the communal singing of six Burns songs with the addition of “The Star o’ Robbie Burns”. Fionn accompanied the singing on his fiddle. Interspersed between the songs two poems were read with inspiration by two sisters. Firstly Bessie Muir read, “To a Mouse”, and then Jenny Mainland followed later with, “The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, the Author’s only Pet Yowe” To complete our short programme Sydney Ogilvie, singing unaccompanied, gave a fine rendering of a Burns’ song, with an Irish slant, called “Kellyburn braes”.

Lively dancing followed with accordions, fiddle and pipes providing the music. Prior to tea, Westray shortbread and festive, current bun being served, the raffle-draw was managed by Ian Deyell. The organisation of the raffle was carried out by Friends of the North Ronaldsay Trust – a newly formed group on the Orkney Mainland conceived by and composed mainly of our island folk that live there. They have the very worthy aim of raising money for the Trust and focusing attention on the needs and problems of North Ronaldsay. Four of the members had come specially from Kirkwall for the Burns Supper. A magnificent sum of £125 was raised from the raffle to help with the starting-up costs of this supportive group. Generous prizes were donated by the Friends with additional prizes from Jocky and Fiona Wood and John Sinclair.

Incidentally the first real get together of the North Ronaldsay Trust had taken place on the morning of our planned celebrations. Attending the successful meeting as the Trust’s finance director was Douglas Gorman who is also the director of finance of the Northern Lighthouse Board. Mr Gorman’s presence was much appreciated and he was also the island’s guest at the Burns Supper.

At around 2am in the morning this little company of islanders, guests, friends and visiting islanders joined hands to sing Auld Lang Syne – that almost universal parting song which ends all such gatherings. After the cleaning-up session the following day a few of us, including our four islanders from the Mainland, had an extra ‘peedie’ impromptu dance, sing-song, and much fun, just to give Rabbie Burns an extra nod until January comes round once again.

I’m finishing this letter on Thursday, February 1 – well no, I see that it is coming on for two in the morning of Friday, Candlemas Day – a week since our Burns supper (does that boy o’ Antabreck have nothing better to do I know’ll be said when this is known).

Never mind, outside the wind is blowing strongly from the south’ard and not a star did I see when I was out just a minute ago, only a flying drizzle lit up brightly every ten seconds by the long, sweeping beams of the New Lighthouse’s electric- powered lantern. For almost three years since automation the building has lain silent and empty and it’s sad to think that the days of the lighthouse keepers are in the past and that, that once great institution has become part of history.

Are the ghosts of those who have passed on still going to be looking out to the stormy sea when their watch comes up again tonight I wonder, or will they disappear in sadness, like the long-gone old lobster fishermen I mentioned in my summer letter? Perhaps this lighthouse may yet provide a symbolic ‘light’ for the future – as is envisaged by the North Ronaldsay Trust. But like the words of the song I remember once being sung under the gleam of the stars on a Hogmanay almost 50 years ago, as the Linklet’s toon men were out together on their visiting rounds,

Whatever will be, will be,
The future’s not ours to see,
Que Sera Sera.

A few days ago I took down Antabreck’s Christmas decorations.

Some say that January 5 is the day for this to happen, but I waited until the 6th, since by my estimate this date is the twelfth day of Christmas. In any case, 5 or 6, the taking down of the decorations ends the Christmas part of the festive season, and the previously decorated rooms look bare, and a little sad maybe, for a time.

There are, however, a few days left in which to complete the New Year or Yule visits – January 13 being the last day. As I’ve mentioned previously Ernest Marwick says that in the north (Orkney, Shetland and Caithness) Yule was always spoken of, never Christmas. Yule he says began at Thomas-mass (December 21) and ended on January 13, which we know as Aald New Year’s day.(I wonder if young Orcadians, or even some older, are familiar with this date, and do they still speak of Yule ?). In any case last year, between one thing and another – colds and such like – I fell short of this old tradition I’ve just mentioned – when I try to make a round of the houses that I’ve been in the habit of visiting before the end of the 13th. It is one custom I still like to try and follow, and when I used to visit Johnny o’ Barrenha, when he was alive, he would always remind me about Aald New Year’s day and its significance. He would also mention that by this date there was at least an extra hour of daylight. Looking at the calendar I see that it is January 10, and I fear that unless I make a sweeping round of visits in a day or two – a bit like those we used to make on Hogmanay and New Year days of old, I’m going to be in the same boat as last year.

In my last letter we were all getting ready for the traditional end of the year events. They went by quite successfully, though by comparison with our almost day-by-day millennium celebrations held last year, community activities were much reduced, and less than half the number of people were on the island for the holiday period. Still, it’s clear that enjoyable affairs do not always depend on large numbers being present. To begin with, over £100 was collected for the children’s Christmas Eve party at a whist drive arranged for the purpose. The school’s Island Christmas dinner, which came a bit later, was grand, as was the children’s presentation of Jack and the Beanstalk, which followed the meal. School pupils, Louis and Joni Craigie, Richenda and Thomas Brookman and Heather Duncan, performed extremely well as singers and actors – despite the deafening noise in the hall caused by the ferocious weather outside. Head teacher, Patricia Thomson, ably directed the proceedings, while her assistant. Isobel Muir (transformed by wig and cushion-stuffed) made a wonderful giant.

On the evening of December 18 there was a Carol service held in the New Church. The Rev Colin Day conducted the service which, as it transpired, was intended to be the last official religious gathering in the building. Carols and readings were well performed by the school pupils under the direction of Patricia Thomson, who also accompanied the singing on the keyboard. Richenda Brookman sang ‘Silent Night’, with Louis and Joni Craigie reading from the scriptures. Next came the children’s Christmas Eve party which was as well enjoyed as ever. This event stretches away back in time in my minding to the forties, and I suppose much further back, since I’ve heard my late father talk about the bairns’ Christmas treat which was organised for many years by the Traills (Lairds and one time owners of the island). That would have been mainly between the wars that he was referring to, but I must ask someone who was in his class in those the far-off days of the early twenties, also she may remember how those parties were conducted.

Even today they are different as Helen o’ Trebb reminded me. I had forgotten some of the games we used to play, games like, as Helen mentioned, The Farmer in his Den, Here we come gathering Nuts and May, The Good ship sails through the Elley Alley O, and so on. My cousin Ella, who was in the same class as Helen, tells me that during the war years (1939/40) when they were at school, about the end of the Traill era, she remembers other games such as, There were three Knights came out of Spain, In and out of the Dusty Bluebells, Bingo and others. (Sheila o’ Vincoin, the post-lady, has just come in – I’m, as it happens, reviewing my letter. She mentions one other game – it is of course, Here we go round the Mulberry Bush). And Santa, who now comes to distribute presents at the Christmas party, only ever had such gifts placed under the Christmas tree in those earlier days – leaving his appearance to the imagination.

To end the year we had a peedie slide show made up of a small selection of last year’s extensive presentation which had shown all aspects of North Ronaldsay’s history available in photographic form. The dance which followed took off very well and continued most enjoyably with great participation by everybody.

Outside the community centre the night was cold with icy roads and scatterings of snow lying over the island. But before the little company parted, servings of hot soup fortified everyone against the sharpness of the night.

A couple of days later Hogmanay was celebrated, with many first-footers still very active late in the night – or rather early in the morning. I’m just remembering Hogmanays of old on our toonship some 40 years ago,when the famous North Ronaldsay home brew was the proper and main drink for Yule. It was not uncommon for one of our close neighbours to be making his way home from our house when the morning sky of the New Year was well established. In fact this neighbour was a great visitor – particularly at this time of year. On one marathon visit to the house of an acquaintance with whom he had many a session, he arrived on a Saturday night, stayed ‘discoorsing’ as the long night passed, and on through a visit the next day from a great story teller who had previously been asked to come for dinner. All of Sunday the ‘discoorse’ continued, and all through the night until the next morning when at last this epic visit came to an end. During all of that time, no doubt, one of the main topics of conversation would have been the ‘redding’ up of kindred, with its many twisting tangents and island history combined, and when the ‘story teller’ was there, she also would have been in her very element.

Well, those were the days, but to get back to the present and to my account. The next day the Stan-Stane dance went ahead, though with far less participants than last year when over 50 dancers took part. Neven’s entertaining visit followed to round-off the event. Later in the evening, at Vincoin, a goodly and merry company brought in the New Year in style.

So there is my report on recent festive events – and one or two other things besides. For most of the time we have had surprisingly good weather – even the flurry of snow which began on Boxing Day was pleasant enough, with hardly any wind, and long icicles hung from roofs and high rock-geo faces. Then there have been some wonderful sunsets and startling skies, and what’s more I’ve been wielding my water-colour brushes from time to time. Today a few of us tackled a couple of punds, with the native sheep flying along the sea-shore to eventually, but reluctantly, become prisoners for a time in the stone built enclosures.

At nights (in bed I have to admit) I’ve been reading, with much pleasure, one of the Great Blasket Island books, ‘Island Cross Talk’ by Thomás O’Crohan – one which I have not seen before. I have all the others (of which there are six). Tam McPhail, from Stromness Books and Prints, tells me that they have all been re-printed recently.

By the way (I’m away again I hear you say), before a brother of mine (Norman) left North Ronaldsay to eventually live in Australia, he recorded all the old 78 rpm records in my late father’s collection. He had many, though he always reminded the family of how we, at least some of us, when we were young, had broken ones that he had a special keeping on. They were played, of course, on the old wind-up gramophone, with steel playing-needles which were supposed to be changed frequently, but even so, favourite records developed a distinct hiss as time went by. As I sit and type I’m listening to some of them on tape – one just being played is of Willie Kemp singing, ‘There’s nothing but Smiles in the Orkney Isles’.

But to get back to the ‘Blasket books’ The Great Blasket Islands lie three miles off Ireland’s Dingle Peninsula. Until their evacuation just after the Second World War, the lives of the 150 or so Blasket Islanders had remained unchanged for centuries, with their rich oral tradition of story-telling, poetry and folktales keeping alive the legends and history of the islands. The seven books (and extensive amounts of archive material) contain memories and reminiscences of a way of life vanished and long forgotten – forgotten that is until one reads the rather remarkable works of those few native islanders who were encouraged to put down their memories on paper.

Island Cross Talk (pages from a diary) makes the most entertaining reading, reminding me often of what I know North Ronaldsay used to be like – even though the book was written in the early 1900s. The diary goes from April 1919 to before Christmas 1922, with titles like, for example, Shearing the Sheep, The Lobster Boat, Seal Meat or Pig Meat, The Woman at the Well, New Year’s Eve, and so on. In a way North Ronaldsay is becoming a bit like the Blaskets in that it is loosing much of the old way of life, which, even going back only as far as the sixties (when the population would have been over 120) was far more in evidence than it is today. Hopefully it will not become depopulated like the Blaskets, but along with the loss of the old ways, partly also goes history, stories, customs and dialect – to name but a few. One good illustration of this change is to think about the ‘epic’ visit described above which took place in the sixties. Not many islanders left today would have the interest, let alone the knowledge, to speak on relationships and the extensive island history that inevitably went along with such a subject – and to be able to continue for two nights and a day – non-stop.

In the Blasket Island diary it mentions many things which connect closely with North Ronaldsay.

Seal-skin waistcoats are referred to – a man in the Blaskets was thought not to be dressed unless he wore one. When we were living at our first home, and before the fifties, I can remember a sealskin mat which used to lie in my Grandmother’s bedroom. We always thought it to be attractive but somehow mysterious, and I remember talk of the waistcoats.

Seal oil was of course an important commodity for light in both islands, and indeed all over, though that form of illumination here I never actually saw. The use of sand is also mentioned – interestingly in the Blaskets – for drying up floors. I just can remember seeing sand scattered on a floor in the forties, though others of my generation also remember this custom. It was certainly practised extensively in earlier days. It helped to keep floors clean, since when they were swept it removed gutter etc. brought in on work boots. New dry white sand freshened everything once more and even lightened the appearance of the particular room.

Another custom mentioned was the respect shown when an islander died. No work was done on the day of the funeral until after the burial. I think I can say that this practice is still generally respected here by those who can, and those who remember its significance. Incidentally, one other tradition connected with a funeral which North Ronaldsay folk have always carried out, and that is the stepping up to the open grave, after the committal, to look for the last time on the coffin and the name and age of the deceased.

There is also an interesting comment about sheep which still applies here now that, for the moment at least, the sea-weed eating sheep have become widely known and attractive as an organic food.

“Isn’t it powerful money sheep are fetching now,” says an islander, and “They cost nothing to keep and will always bring in a penny – one to shear one to sell and one to eat.” And isn’t this observation true – and not only on islands. “On days when some of us meet together, everyone voices his own opinion. There are those with something worthwhile to say and those who rattle on but say nothing”.

I could go on with many other examples of similarities, but will finish the island comparisons with a couple of statements by the author of the diary, Thomás O’Crohan, which particularly took my eye. He’s referring to the island’s lobster fishing in the first statement, and probably mackerel in the second, though both fit very well North Ronaldsay’s situation with lobster fishing almost 80 years later than when O’Crohan was writing – the difference being that the boats in question are not from France.

“‘The French fishing boats are causing havoc. They are there off shore at all hours with lobster pots set among our own pots. The women do not like to see them here for they take all and bring them nothing”, and (written on a Sunday), “When I turn to gaze north I could see boats fishing like any other day of the week, but they were not from here. These are causing great harm and they will cause more, and not in one way only. Besides carrying off the fish, they are weakening the Faith too, for the poor island fishermen is watching them catching the share of fish that should be his, on a Sunday, which should be a day of rest”.

Well, there we are, time to bring this letter to a close I think. Uppermost in our minds, some of us anyway, is our forthcoming little Burns night. Plans have been made and January 25 is not so very far away. Anyway, I’m looking at Thomás O’Crohan’s diary again – I had a number of pages marked for interest. I think I like particularly his entry for February 1921. His title is ‘A Man with the Seven Cares of the Mountain on his Shoulders’. It concerns a fellow islander who stops to speak to O’Crohan and tells him about ‘the seven cares of the mountain’ with which he is concerned, and as he says, with no end of things to do and not making a start on any of them.

He complains, ‘There are people gathering seaweed. I need turf. I have sheep to dip. I need flour. I have a wall to repair. I have a shed to rebuild. I have a trawl-line to see and a net to repair. I left the house now to have a day away from it all, for I couldn’t decide which should be tackled first.

Thomás O’Crohan gives him this advice. ‘Any man ever who has all his tasks staring him in the face must own a good share of that to his own neglect. Don’t ever follow the example of the man who is not ahead of his work with everything put safely behind him. Go home now and finish one of them, and then it won’t be facing you tomorrow’.

* * *

Postscript: I managed all my planned old time visits before the 13th had passed away except one (the folk were out). When I do go to that house I shall have to pour a little libation of whisky on the doorstep before I enter – just to please the old Norsemen, Johnny O’ Barrenha, and myself.