Dunnet Bay Caravan Club Site, Caithness

16 August 2017:-  The alarm went off early enough to have us on the road to John O’Groats and arriving at the wharf in time to catch the 8.45 am ferry, the rather aged MV Pentland, obviously named after the Pentland Firth we were soon to cross. The weather had dawned fine, the breeze brisk but not galeforce, the sea choppy enough to cause the motor vessel to rise and fall, front to back, wallowing minimally  and not generally of the kind to cause sea sickness. 

Forty minutes later, we cruised into the wharf at Burwick on the south end of Orkney’s  South Ronaldsay, a lonely spot marked only with the well reinforced breakwater and a prefabricated building housing toilets and a simple waiting room. Four buses were lined up to receive us all; there was nowhere to go but board a vehicle of some kind. 

There are several ferry ports on the Orkney’s, this at Burwick for foot passengers from John O’Groats, another to cater for the small private car ferry from Gills Bay on the mainland to St Margaret’s Hope, and the larger port for the same at Stromness, which caters for North Link Ferries plying their service out of Scrabster. 

Our own coach was a smart Mercedes, about £280,000 worth if our wonderful driver and guide was to be believed. Stuart was a big man, with a big personality and a wonderful sense of humour. He was also an excellent driver who managed to negotiate the various obstacles along the way with unbroken commentary.

We headed north across South Ronaldsay, soon within view of Scapa Flow, the deep water harbour surrounded with many of the seventy islands, the harbour host to the navy during both World Wars. During the first war, wrecks were dragged and placed across the entries to the harbour to provide a secure refuge for the navy. 

In 1939, very early in the second war, a very daring German submarine captain, having fallen foul of  Hitler himself, was sent off on a suicide mission, to enter Scapa Flow and blow up the British Navy. As it turned out, most of the vessels had headed off elsewhere, leaving an aircraft carrier and one other large warship vulnerable. On a second attempt, the German was successful and destroyed the warship.  The enemy hero escaped but was lost later in the war pursuing other deadly orders. These days he is not vilified, nor applauded, but acknowledged for his skill.

However Churchill was neither amused or impressed, and insisted the gaps in Scapa’s entrances be plugged. By now there were few men left in the Orkney’s, most fighting further afield, so with a shortgage of labour, Churchill decided that he could use POWs to fill the labour shortage, something that ordinarily would be forbidden under the Geneva Convention. Use of POWs to assist with the war effort was strictly taboo, however the canny Churchill said this was nothing to do with the war effort, but to improve the well-being of the Orcadians, the linking of the islands by causeway, and so the Churchill Barriers were built. Today we were eternally grateful, not wishing to take further ferry rides within such a short space of time.

While on the subject of Scapa Flow, this was where the greatest loss of shipping in one single day occurred. At the end of the First World War, when the last of the German Navy had been mustered into the Scapa, there was miscommunication between the commanders of the German vessels, and as a result, they scuttled their own charges. In the years that followed, most were salvaged giving rise to yet another fascinating story, and those left have since become dive sites providing yet another tourist destination. 

Our trip up over the islands of Burray and Lamb Holme, then on to the Mainland, the main island of the group, while cruising along long straight roads built by the military all those years ago, was peppered by commentary and stops to admire hairy pigs, Mangalica, once found across Hungary and surrounding countries, particulay Romania; they are apparently some of the fattiest pigs in the world, with 65 -70 % of their carcasses fat.

The countryside all about was bathed in sunshine, populated with sheep of which there are a great number on the islands. We were entertained with stories of “flying” sheep and a variety of other phenomena that occur in the ceaseless winds, all bunkum of course, but all to illustrate the force of the weather upon the islands.

We arrived in the capital, Kirkwall, a little before midday, and were directed to various attractions around the town, all of which we managed to visit in the hour or so we were left to our own devices.

St Magnus Cathedral stands in the middle of Kirkwall, dominating the skyline, such as it is. This beautiful red-sandstone building was begun in 1137 by Orkney Lord Rognvald, spurred on by the growing cult surrounding the figure of his Uncle Magnus, killed by his cousin Hakon in 1117. While the above are all facts, the other stories about this Magnus turned him into an almost magical character, or saint, if you are a Christian. 

Today much of the sandstone has worn away but it is still a very impressive building, and even more so decorated throughout by the flower arrangments as part of the annual Floral Festival.

Just across from the cathedral is the Museum where we spent some time; an impressive little trove of historical treasure, but it is hard to really enjoy such places when clock watching. 

Behind the museum is a little walled garden, a refuge from the tourists and with the rare presence of trees. Once the islands were covered with birch and alder trees, but that was when the climate was warmer and before the people who arrived over the many centuries cut them all down for fuel and construction. 

Anyone who watches documentaries on television will have learned about the archeological discoveries on these islands, and we were to see some of these later in the day. We also learned that the Orkney’s were Norwegian  for many centuries. After Norway united with Denmark under the Danish Crown, Orkney and the Shetlands were pawned to Scotland as part of a royal dowry in 1468, they were formally annexed to Scotland in 1471.

Back on the coach, we travelled west through more farmland, passing little clusters of houses hardly worthy of village status. 21,500 people inhabit the group, most of them on this island,  Mainland. 

Soon we arrived at Stromness, parking down by the ferry terminal, and the place strangely quiet. We were directed to a variety of eateries, but having brought our lunch, instead found a sheltered spot out of the wind, as did a few other likeminded passengers. 

A rain squall arrived just as we were finishing up, so we walked up the main street, which winds its way along the shoreline, the shops and houses between the shoreline and the twisty steep narrow lane, wrapped in our coats.

Initially we thought the place devoid of stores to provide the residents with their day to day needs, but when we examined the “problem” further, we realised that there were little shops tucked among the other non-descript buildings; shops selling baby-wear, a women’s wear shop, hardware, a hairdresser, a barber, a bookshop. Only men would be required to travel to the mainland or (or Thurso, which we later discovered to offer at least two such outlets)  to replace their wornout trews. 

We found our way up some of the pedestrian lanes in the vain hope of finding a lookout over the town, but no such point seemed to exist. Instead we returned to the café opposite the ferry terminal and ordered coffee and a bowl of chips, finishing in time to board the coach once again.

The first destination of the afternoon was Skara Brae, lying to the north of Stromness. This settlement of ten clustered houses, occupied over 5,000 years ago, was discovered by the Laird of Skaill, William Watt in 1850 when a storm stripped the grass from the dunes.

The site owes its current presentation to the archaeologist Gordon Childe who excavated here from 1928 to 1931. The site had been taken into State care and Childe was keen to make sure it was well-presented to the public. The most recent excavations took place in the 1970s led by David Clarke. The opportunity was taken to gather information about the site’s environment using techniques not available in Childe’s day.

Today Heritage Scotland manages the site and introduces the visitor to the marvel by way of a wonderful visitor centre, a short film, an exhibition of artefacts and a mock-up of one of the houses. Then one wanders on up the hill adjacent to the beach and walks a circuit about the uncovered works; it really is quite amazing.

Skaille House, also included in the Scottish Heritage entry fee, is part of the Breckness Estate and was built by Bishop George in 1620. It is also the former home of William Graham Watt, he who discovered Skara Brae in 1850.

There have been twelve Lairds of the Breckness Estate, the current Laird is Major Malcolm Macrae who inherited the estate in 1991 from his cousin. Malcolm restored the house and it has been open to the public since 1997.

The house has a very homely feel and is without the elegance or grandness of other heritage houses visited as far as architectural features is concerned, however it is full of special treasures and chattels, such as the dinner set supposedly to have come from Captain Cook’s ship after his third and disastrous voyage. 

Not too far on are the Ring of Brodgar and the Standing Stones of Stenness, two very different sets of Neolithic standing stones, three quarters of a mile apart. 

At the Ring of Brodgar is a near perfect circle of Old Red Sandstone, from different parts of Orkney, 104 metres across, surrounded by a ten metre wide ditch that has two opposing causeways crossing over it.   

Brodga may originally have been a circle of sixty stones, though only thirty six remain today. Thirteen of these were re-erected after the Ring came into State care in 1906.

The Standing Stones of Stenness were raised about 5000 years ago. Originally the circle consisted of eleven or twelve stones. They were surrounded by a wide ditch crossed by a single causeway. Outside the ditch ran a substantial outer bank and at the centre of the circle was a large hearth, a central focal point.

We, and a hundred other coach delivered tourists, made our way around these attractions, not as moved as we might have been had we been there alone. 

Back in Kirkwall, arriving just after 5 pm, we were left again to ourselves and advised to get something to eat and drink because it would be late by the time we got home. 

We headed for the café near the cathedral, to find it closing, as were most of the other eateries. I remembered seeing the Co-op up the main street, and was pleased to see they were still open and had a fridge full of takeout food to save the day. Chris chose a pack of sandwiches and a sausage roll and I, a chicken wrap, the first wrap I have ever tried. While the filling was very tasty, I found the tortilla horribly doughy. I doubt I shall try a takeout wrap again, and that is not the fault of the Co-op.

And so it was time to head back to the ferry terminal at Burwick, that cluster of prefabs and lobster cages on the southern end of South Ronaldsay. 

We slowed for the hairy pigs, and then again for a small herd of Highland cattle, before pulling into the Italian Chapel right next to one of the Barriers and the scant remains of Camp 60, Italian POW camp.

Two Nissan huts were given to the prisoners on request and they set to and created a chapel out of concrete and scrap metal. The tabernacle was made from wood obtained from a wrecked ship and the light holders made from corned beef tins. 

The interior was exquisitely painted by Domenico Chiocchetti and while it has been refreshed or undergone conservation work a couple of times since the original work, it still looks wonderful.

Entry used to be free, but after vandals, on this otherwise crime free island, stole the donation box and the Stations of the Cross, a group of caretakers now guard the gate and collect £3 per person, a small price to pay to admire this handiwork. With the coachloads of tourists pouring in, they should be able to build a large visitor centre here before long.

The boat was late arriving at the windswept wharf, and the return trip rough. The vessel lurched through the large waves, rolling from one side to the other, the eastern horizon visible, then the western, and was slow making headway, taking an extra quarter of an hour. I did not enjoy any part of the trip.

Back on terra firma, we made our way home, and sat down to a bowl of hot soup before hitting the sack.