Journal 2024 and a Detour to Orkney
My First Journal of 2024
I have pangs of guilt because this is my first post of 2024. I’m afraid I sloped off, to do a number of other things.
First of all there was the matter of my, long advertised, book Amanda Drake’s Heart. There were times it felt so close to completion but it wasn’t anywhere near. I have been slaving on its finer points.
We have all seen movies, in which an author types meticulously to the words THE END and enjoys a celebratory glass of Champagne. I can tell you now, those words are the beginning of great self-criticism and an endless list of changes.
Am I any closer to finishing it? The jury is still out, though I have started researching and writing a sequel.
I’m afraid that is what happens to me. When I get to the editing stage, my mind wonders onto the next idea. When you have read your own book twenty times, you have to walk away because you can no longer see the flaws.
Feeling very much in need of a break, I went to Orkney for a week and let the dust settle on my manuscript.
I have some beautiful pictures and a little local knowledge of Orkney, which I will put at the end of this blog. After sitting alone, writing for months on end, it was a true adventure.
When I think back, there were other bits of life which I allowed to take over for a while. Events on the world stage were pretty depressing. The other factor, which latched onto a generally depressed atmosphere, was a bit of friendly advice. Some books shouldn’t be out there, apparently.
I have got a grip now and completely understand the ‘gentle word in my ear’. I’ve since put on my There goes my last flying damn T-shirt and thrown myself back into the process.
Motivation. It’s Not That Easy
I suppose the biggest factor is procrastination. It is not easy to get up in the morning, swig some coffee and plug in your laptop. Writing takes self-belief, in the face of family and friends who simply can’t understand what I’m doing. Though I’m lucky, I can stay at home and do what I like, which is creating stories.
Now I have shaken off a ‘mild case of the blues’, I call it that because I am not permitted to have depression, there are still a number of sticking points when it comes to motivating myself.
Mattresses are comfortable and sometimes cats are on your lap. Social media is interesting and there are people you know who are also skiving off work and there is always housework.
I’m very aware that being home alone means I must undertake the lion’s share of mundane things and I am very grateful to my partner, who covered my expenses for the two years it took to write my first book. I cannot fault his generosity and he still makes sacrifices to help keep me motivated.
Last Bank Holiday was no exception. Having driven to Birmingham to spend Easter Sunday with his mother, he undertook a 150 mile round trip to assist me with my writing.
I only wanted to know the smallest of facts for a tiny part of a chapter.
One question, which was bugging me, was the lay of the land around an area previously inhabited by my mother’s ancestors. Yes, there were hills, despite it being very close to salt marshes and river estuaries.
The second question was about the kind of houses built in the era I am writing about. Fortunately there was no rewrite required, Google Earth had shown me the correct images. (Please don’t tell him.) He was, however, very entertained by the name of the small hamlet we visited, as some of my characters had settled down in Fingringhoe, Essex.
The sign leading into the picturesque village says, “Fingringhoe, Please Drive Carefully.” We could only think that you would.
Having patiently waited for me look around St. Andrew’s Church, my partner declined a drink at The Whale Bone Public House, which has a nice garden and a reputation for good food. He tempted me away with the possibility of a seaside walk, thinking he had paid quite enough for fuel.
I made the mistake of chatting about an explanation of the nursery rhyme Humpty Dumpty, which was that Humpty Dumpty was a huge cannon, owned by the King during the English Civil War, set upon a wall/tower in nearby Colchester. (If you would like to know more about the siege of Colchester…. Check out In the Margins Beyond the Expected, YouTube, rather than me boring you too! One Eyed Thomas may not be your thing. By the 1700s the riddle of Humpty Dumpty turned Humpty into an egg and Lewis Carol was the person who gave Humpty a face in Through the Looking Glass.)
When I finished reciting this fascinating, to me, story, my partner headed back toward a Suffolk motorway, concluding the sighting of a Lighthouse ship on the River Colne, as close to the sea as he could be bothered to go. We grabbed a service station Sandwich.
I can’t complain, he had well and truly gone above and beyond.
(Local fact, Essex Egg Mayo is made with Salad Cream in some establishments. Who’d have thunk it?)
Detour to Orkney
I didn’t get to see as much of Orkney as you might expect. My purpose there was to help a friend, whose partner had been seriously ill.
Elaine’s old house: right, The Meeting Place, St. Margaret’s Hope
Her partner’s illness had caused concern about their location. They had lived a number of years in 200 hundred year old house at St. Margaret’s Hope on South Ronaldsay, which you can only reach by ferry or a journey across the Churchill Barriers, built by Italian Prisoners of War to stop U-Boats passing between the many Islands which make up Orkney. In an emergency it wouldn’t be possible to get a sick person from Ronaldsay to hospital, on the outskirts of Kirkwall in certain kinds of weather. So my friend had managed to get a less remote bungalow on the mainland.
I have to say here that my friend, Elaine, was an expert at navigating the barriers, having seen her time the passing of a point on one of them, where bus-sized waves had been crashing over it.
Waves, I found, are a fact of life on Orkney. Passing over a road between two beaches, near Elaine’s new home, we were hunted down by one, as if it were a predatory animal. We watched its approach as it took a mischievous shape, slapping up a nearby stretch of land, then stared hopelessly through the foam covered windscreen, trying to see the road ahead. Elaine was quite cool about it, “That happens too.”
I am not a very adventurous traveller and could understand her partner’s explanation of their move being down to the barriers being ‘a bit splashy’ when he had returned from a long stay in hospital. When Elaine had told me not to visit in October, because of the wind, I had no idea what Orkney winds were like and booked my ticket thinking “How bad can it be?” I soon found out.
South Ronaldsay hasn’t much shelter between it and Norway and the autumn wind is an assault on the senses. I found this out when I went for my first walk with Elaine’s dogs on the beach by the Kirk, near Grimness. A wall of wind made walking difficult and fair emptied my lungs and dried my mouth. My second walk, with my old friend Mally, at the beach near The Viking Totem was even harsher.
That is when I really began to worry about my return journey.
The bad weather I had seen during my transfer at Edinburgh airport to a two prop’ plane had unnerved me enough, though I had missed the tail end of Storm Babet. The jet I had taken from City Airport, London, had struggled with landing in high winds. All I managed to see, through the blackness, were white spinning wind turbines, sticking through heavy clouds, as we landed.
When I found the Departure Gate for the ‘little plane’, I comforted myself that it couldn’t be that little, as all the seats there became occupied. Then three oil refinery workers rolled up and surveyed the scene.
“They won’t fit all they on there.” Said one.
“Someone will have to die.” Joked another.
I clocked up 10,000 points, playing Woodoku on my phone to ease my nerves, as it became apparent everyone else, bar three American tourists, knew at least one other waiting passenger.
“And where are you coming from, Sheila?” Someone asked the lady sitting behind me.
Sheila had been on a jewellery making course in Italy but hadn’t seen much of the little village she had been staying in because there had been thunderstorms and floods. (Yes, I am nosy.) But that’s not the end of it. Unless I’m completely delusional, I think the Sheila in question may possibly have been Sheila Fleet, who owns a lovely chapel Gallery and Restaurant, at Tankerness, which I visited during an errand with Elaine.
If you ever have the chance to visit Orkney, please do go there. I bought a lovely silver broach in the church Gallery, which was an interpretation of the Birsay Disk, found in 1975 on the small tidal island, inhabited by artisan jewellers in the 7/8th century.
If you are not into jewellery gazing, I would recommend a visit to the remote restaurant, not least because it is a lovely drive in the wilderness and they serve the best Apple Crumble Cake I have ever tasted.
Being busy, we did not go into the Italian Chapel, though we passed it many times. It is made out of two war time Nissan Huts and was built by the same Italian Prisoners of War who built the barriers. I have seen pictures of its interior and it looks a fascinating place to visit. Two original painted panels were apparently taken from outside the chapel during a renovation and have never been located.
I did have a day roaming around with my friend and her dogs. We went first to Scapa Flow, the place famously known for the deliberate scuttling of a German war fleet, when their Captain did not know talks had been extended by 3 days and feared his fleet being commandeered for use by the British. From that point, a tragedy took place. Many of the unarmed Germans, jumping ship, where shot in the water.
I got as far as the standing stones at Stenness, and withstood the wind at the lighthouse, by Zanzibar Cottage, of TV’s Top Gear fame. (In case you don’t know. Richard Hammond, Jeremy Clarkson and James May raced their cars up the length of the UK to try and beat the Royal Mail by delivering a letter to Zanzibar Cottage…. And that little two prop’ plane, which seldom stops running, ensured they were beaten.)
I can’t tell you very much more about Orkney. What I did enjoy was not being a tourist. I think, just running about dropping things at Kirkwall charity shops and shopping for the move, picking up various bits Elaine had found for sale online, and going to supermarkets, gave me a more personal view of the Islands.
I particularly liked four waiting cars being considered a traffic jam and the lovely locals, who did not hesitate to speak to me.
The freshness and quality of all the food I ate, both at my friend’s home and in South Ronaldsay’s pubs was second to none I’ve experienced away from home. Contrary to what I had expected, being on a treeless Island, there was plenty of local produce.
I ate at Robertson’s Coffee Hoose & Bar and the food was simple and well presented, the beer well-kept and tasty. I noted, with amusement, people waiting with their dogs outside the front door one lunch time, looking very merry. The bus picked them up on its way by. I’m told that the bus drivers are very accommodating and stop whenever/wherever they are waved down.
The Murray Arms Hotel, was where I had the best Fish & Chips ever. We had two stabs at getting food here, because Elaine had forgotten that it was now ‘winter’ and they only served food for a couple of hours. We missed the first day and were successful the next. Despite the kitchen being open for a tiny window of time, the landlady timed a take away box for Elaine’s partner with our leaving.
Elaine said the kind landlady’s father was a fisherman and had probably brought our dinner into the bay early that morning.
Despite its traditional stone walls, The Murray Arms is quite modern and has beautifully clean facilities. It claims En-Suite Accommodation and I would certainly book myself in if I wanted to see St. Margaret’s Hope again….01856 831205…if you are interested in a stay there. It’s a short distance from the ferry, if you are hiking and want a good base. On-line booking is also available.
If you asked me what my favourite part of my 7 day stay was, I would have to say the few minutes’ walk to the local Post Office in St. Margaret’s Hope, in the morning. I loved the quiet easy feeling about the place and the ferry waiting at the end of the harbour, with a nearby seal sheltering in the bay. I looked forward to running out of milk.
I understand, coming from a tourist town myself, that things may be a tad more industrious in the summer months but autumn was truly relaxing and, remote as it was, St. Margaret’s Hope had everything I needed to hand.
My last day on Orkney was spent laying carpets at my friend’s new bungalow, on the North side of Orkney, and helping to unload their belongings. At about half past three, I put down my Stanley knife and waited to see if Elaine made it back, from her old house on Ronaldsay, to give me a lift to the airport.
She did return to get me to the airport on time, slightly hampered by road works, which left me looking anxiously at the end of the runway, in a genuine jam.
I was really sad to say goodbye to my old friend and Orkney. I wouldn’t hesitate to go back, though the twilight journey, in heavy winds, on that brave sturdy little plane isn’t something I would like to do again in autumn. I think, perhaps, it would be nice to go again in spring and see all the new lambs and wild life, of which there is plenty.
I have put footage of my dusk departure below. I apologise for it not being edited. If you just want to see the take-off, as opposed to the plane ambling past the fields and sea views, fast forward to about 6.5 minutes.
The experience was such that I feel I must go to more remote places, who knows what I may have to show you in blogs to come.
Many Thanks for your time and interest. Take care, till next time.
Rachel.
Added apologies for there being no recipes or cleaning tips this time round. It was a running joke, induced by my first blog and I have found it an added strain during the last stages of editing.