Space is everywhere, the wind brushing the sky and sea with rough strokes of blue.
Today I found the lane where I can hear wind in trees again, a sound of home to me. It is likely to be the only place where trees sing the song of the wind on these islands, a huddle of tree cords for the spacious wind. I don’t know yet. I adore trees but chose to be on islands without trees. Rooks, starlings, Shapsinay ferry with George MacKay Brown in my pocket, or ‘George’ as the bookshop lady called him , crunchy fluffy scones from Lolz, gliding lights and hospital dapper bins. The lull of accents like drawn to a warm fire, tea and a Highland Park with ‘The Herald’ paper, the wind oh the relentless wind, air, I can breath again, a head gater ordered, the hole the room the suitcases displaced lost noise exhaustion, orderly, polite, Scandinavian culture, attitudes, no trees, distant hills of other isles, slowly realising I’m surrounded by sea, getting strength in my legs to walk with hope with my heart waking up cautiously, cows lying down in the wind, distillery sentinel of the town second to the cathedral, cats skulking calmly, who will I meet who awaits as new beginnings unfold, the sense of unfolding rarely occurs in life though it often has for me but never like this. The shops independent shops gracing the street, clusters of trees the more precious, people more valued, adventure, terror, excitment, amusement, curiosity, uncertainty, aloneness, freedom, calm, panic, ease, wonderings, wanderings, all at once and it feels like living again after a lockdown and a loss.
Took a needed break in a hotel in town from my one room squash, share, and squeeze hospital block. Morale lifted as I found a cafe with homemade cakes, and saw the Shapinsay ferry leave port. Skulked around up and down the high street a few times orienting to shops and alleyways. Later simmering in a deep bath tub, a joy, as haven’t had one since leaving the south.
Almost sensing a deep learning of the depth of community connection, it’s like coming up from a submarine after the past year. Though is it a connection with open arms to me. No.
SPACE
TIME
The real Orkney.
Bloody Orkney might be true after all, hellish winter, grey, bleak, black, relentless and brutal winds for months hammering my large window – no one within or without only the ghost of me after an Orkney winter. Closed community. Defensive community. The dark underbelly of paedphilia and the mopping up of victims from services and charities, rats running away escaping from the fishermen’s boats who play with untouchables. Bony sparrows birds sorrowful robins and blackest blackbirds go unfed due to rats. I was forbidden to feed the birds. My only solace. Harrowing barren flat open fields, brown and more brown. Not a weed grows on Yesnby in winter, cliffs awaiting the flinging of misery into their depths to end. Brutal unforgiving forces of nature crushing the spirit, at least when alone, no hearthfire to keep a cosy heart rosy, no arms to hold, to furry friends to comfort and be comforted, grey landscapes through large window on the world for months, nobody welcomed me, just once – a glorious brief welcome, so I stayed I waited for the hearthfire the home to bunker down in winter with ease and contentment why I came here, nothing just suitcases to live from, work, and suitcases every day, and menacing wretched winds, cold is fine, I lived in the artic circle, in broken developing countries, war torn, and coastal storms – but this but Orkney wretched cruel land. The community is connected to itself not to outsiders. Unless gregarious and drinkers. Unless wealthy and useful. Bloody Orkney empty space, love ad hate, and torn, tore away got away to colour to trees to flowers to light to life to noise to plastic faces, the price to pay to be away.
Greetings Fair and Wide and Far.
A blog about my move to Orkney, later in my life, left my world to begin a new world, to chance it, to throw myself upon the island and its people. To hope and trust and tread tentatively at first. To rewrite the idea of the poem on ‘bloody Orkney’ because it is not, it is astounding, and bright sky living, near to the top of the planet. Except.
I stayed I prayed and grew as bleak the fading light at dusk, a land of tears the hidden fears the whispering voices the sorrowful need of humanity on a small scale unveiled.
Hopeless. Unkind island. Sunshine would bring no joy without a hearthfire. Noone can find a home. without a home, the harshness crushes my spirit. My hopes dashed as the rubble on the brown gaping cliffs. I lost my face on Orkney. i lost the battle with the elements on Orkney, they defeated me. I went out to meet them once and was rooted to the road unable to move against the wind, in the dark alone on the island, 700 miles from any family or friends. I went out to meet the wind again, to stand with it, as a companion respected, it howled, and growled, I stood almost fearless, then it roared louder and I gave up and fled indoors to my suitcase. I tried. I didnt make the test of Orkney winters, not alone. Not without a home. Not coming from two years of a pandemic when I was already floored. Threw myself on an island in hope and left crushed. Soul destroying brown, wild, storm after storm every week. No hedges for shelter no trees, the same cake shops, pan faces, cafe, shops that become friendly in tourist season only, follow the rules, say no evil hear no evil speak no evil against any local or be shut down in anger, who art though to utter a stranger here, blend, bend, endure and become us but not yet, I knelt before the wind before a silent God a few times out in the moonlight and howling whipping wolf winds, I surrended but still no comfort, no balm, no warmth, no home, smacked the joy against the wide open sky, the stretch of pebbled sand Scapa beach where my ancestors trod before the locals were born here, the joy of this, of ancient stones, of homemade produce in compariosn of commerical cities and towns on the mainland, my historic connection went unsung just a handful of sand in my pocket to my heritage, i danced and I sang myself into exitence here to begin with, my hellos and I will work with you and for you, and I am here to assist, to learn, to be, but busy hubs, people going home to their own hearthfires and lovers, and furry friends, leaving me to my suitcase in one room to sleep, to hold on, to create change to hope for change, to no avail I gave up.
The open open openess to open my heart after closed down years enforced, and semi chosen, a few gestures a wave to strangers in a window, another window, became my social life this winter, this relentless winter, endless, like living on the moon, isolation, a prison of sky and fields, nothing but fields, and yes I perceive I understand what there is the jewel the precious singular individuality of the island and its people, and its culture, but without acceptance, welcome, the ghost of me fades further, and I had to go. I yearned to stay, my fridge freezzer waiting to hum in a home in storage with 90 boxes of belongings, the dream of a home and animals to enable survivial there, as without this it was purely survivial. No more. Elements, emptiness, landscape dominating specks of people, the planetary shine of Orkney but I had no spacesuit to stay..
The wind chased me off the islands, unrelenting. It heralded the coming of doom, I sensed that night that I met it face on that its brutal fury was a warning of war, of harsh times ahead. It was. Soon after came war in Ukraine, the loss of my health, the loss of our Queen.
GreenEyes 