County Show Day

Notes from a North Sea Island

The most important day in the Orkney calendar. The County quite literally shuts down for the day of the Show. Essentially the Wednesday and Thursday prior to it are also non-events since several of the rural districts on the Orkney Mainland as well as a number of the outer Isles hold their own smaller, but no less significant, shows in the days leading up to the main one in Kirkwall, Orkney’s main town.

Held each year on the second Saturday in August this is an agricultural show at its very best. It could happily compete with any of the numerous events like it held around Britain each summer. Simply everyone who can, attends. It’s a fun day out for all. If the weather happens to be wearing its Sunday best, naturally that’s an added bonus, but even the rain doesn’t usually manage to dampen many spirits on County Show Day.

The organisers get there early to set up. There are lots of stalls and entertainments too, so anyone involved with those will turn up at sparrow cough hour. Now you’d think, wouldn’t you, that the roads early on a Saturday morning during the school holidays in a small place in the very north of Scotland would be a scene of almost unnerving silence. Not on County Show Day they aren’t. As early as 6.00 or 7.00am huge transporters rattle and creak into Kirkwall bringing an assortment of award winning cattle, sheep, horses and poultry from the rural farms to be displayed, admired, paraded and judged at the Show.

The gates open at 10.00 o’clock, but long before that hundreds of cars arrive, spilling our their passengers who rush to join the queue, while their drivers find a place to park in the huge field opposite. A massive surge forwards as soon as the great padlock is released.

Unless you’re a farmer or are otherwise responsible for any of the animals the first thing to do, if you’re reasonably fit, is to sprint round all the stalls and entertainments to ascertain what is new this year, before reporting back to those left attending animals, children or grannies. Later on you can take your time to go round at leisure with family and friends, ‘blathering’ (chatting) to friends and acquaintances you meet who are doing exactly the same as you. This is the unwritten rule as to the natural sequence of events and the way to conduct yourself at the County Show.

Unless you have attended a show like this before it’s hard to imagine the cacophony of sounds assailing your ears. People, children, animals, tractors, steam engines and more all make a spectacular day which will be talked about for a long time afterwards.

All morning long the farm animals will be preened one last time while the judges go round all the pens making up their short list of winners in a variety of categories. At around midday the judges come together to agree on the final winners. At 1.00 o’clock the announcements are made and the rosettes are handed out to the proud owners who entered their animals into the Show. During the afternoon, the gymkhana and a parade around the grounds by an assortment of tractors, floats, clowns, gorillas, Mr. Blobbies, Elvis impersonators, eight legged donkeys and ….. well ….. just let your imagination run riot and you’ll probably be able to guess the rest.

Around 5.00pm folk start drifting away. The night of County Show Day is big, so there are country dances and parties to get ready for. The supermarket, which has sat almost empty, like the Marie Celeste, is besieged. A few essentials are purchased, yes, but mainly the raid is for booze – lots of it. Twelve hours or more of partying lie ahead and not a minute of it should be lost.

And what of the animals? A most stressful, unusual day is behind them. Some will hopefully be boasting a rosette in their ear. A stampede, some gentle coaxing and some shoving for the most obstinate fellows gets them back into trucks, transporters and horse boxes for the drive home. For them and the farmers the day is not quite over, but it will be soon. Once out on the country roads again there are just a few more rough tracks to negotiate before the promise of feed and water. The farmer most likely joins his family for supper before dance and music beckon.

Stromness .....

Notes from a North Sea Island

"Draped like grey lace on an emerald shore,
the Orkney town of Stromness recalls a past of
whaling, war and trade."
Bill Bryson

Orkney’s second town has a quaint old fashioned feel about it as one walks up the long, narrow winding main street. The narrow odd-shaped houses set close together afford a little shelter from the buffeting of winter gales. Once or twice the street widens out to reveal a square where a wooden bench may offer respite to the weary legs of Stromness’ older residents. Visitors may think they have been temporarily transposed back to another era. On the surface nothing much appears to have changed for decades. It is easy to imagine what life might have been like here in times gone by. It quickly becomes obvious that this town started out as a fishing community of close knit, hard working folk. Even today many houses have their own slipways and a fishing or rowing boat secured alongside it.

Historically Stromness is much newer than Kirkwall, Orkney’s main town, although there is some evidence of earlier settlements where the town now stands. The earliest houses of what could be termed ‘modern’ Stromness began appearing around 1620. In 1627 it will have been home to at least 500 people, since parish records show 480 registrations.

Stromness' real development as a major town occurred during a series of wars between Britain and France when conflict made the English Channel increasingly dangerous to navigate and the shipping route around northern Scotland became the preferred one. This, of course, led to an increase in trade and economic growth and by 1750 two hundred families lived in the town.

In 1791 Stromness’ already close association with the Hudson Bay Trading Company (the company’s ships regularly came into Stromness to stock up on supplies and hire labour) was further reinforced when a Stromness merchant was appointed as the local agent. By the end of the eighteenth century, three-quarters of the Hudson Bay Company's workforce in Canada was made up of Orcadians.

During the late 19th Century the herring boom was hugely influential in promoting its importance and for a time Stromness was larger than its neighbour and rival Kirkwall. During the First World War, Scapa Flow became the base of the Royal Navy's Grand Fleet and Stromness assumed the role of a Naval HQ. The Second World War brought another influx of military personnel onto the Islands and the Stromness Hotel became the Orkney and Shetland Military HQ. Following the War the population witnessed a slow, but steady decline (at the beginning of the 20th Century it had been at its peak with about 3,100 residents.) By 1961 the population had dropped to below 2,000, but has since then settled at around that figure.

At one time Stromness boasted its very own whisky distillery. Founded in 1817 it operated for forty three years before falling silent (being mothballed) between 1860 and 1878. Sadly the distillery was demolished in 1940. The reasons for this remain a mystery to the present day.

Yesterday I went through to Stromness with my best friend who had some errands to do there. It’s a most scenic drive from Kirkwall (about fifteen miles) and if one had to commute between the two towns, as I did for about a month the first year I lived in Orkney, one couldn’t really wish for a more scenic route along which to do it. The sea lies to the right, quite sheltered here, but apt to become wilder further out. To the left fields, vast expanses of heather covered countryside and some houses when passing through villages.

It had been quite a while since my last visit and yet there I was, as though transported back a hundred years or so. We parked the car at one end of ‘the street’, as the main thoroughfare of the town is known, and walked to where we needed to go. I always experience a slightly odd sensation I can’t really explain when wandering through this place where time seems to have stood still and seeing present day products displayed in the shop windows I pass. Modern boutiques, hairdressers, estate agents, paper shops (news agents), shops selling electrical, audio and lighting equipment. Stromness boasts the only butcher left on these Islands, the advent of a major supermarket in Kirkwall about thirteen years ago made it very difficult for smaller, local shops to survive and gradually more and more are forced out of business.

Naturally I couldn’t pass up the opportunity of visiting Stromness’ tiny, but well stocked bookshop. It appears to be run more as a hobby, to satisfy the owner’s fascination with books (how many of us can identify with that feeling) than as a profit making concern. The shop’s owner is more than willing to discuss books, the local community or what makes the world spin with anyone entering his sanctum. Tam (I’m sure there is an interesting tale behind his name) claims to be able to obtain any book in print. He still searches the suppliers’ and publishers’ databases using microfiche and a reader. There is no computer or credit card machine in Tam’s shop. If you’re not happy paying for your purchases by cash or cheque (you won’t be asked for a cheque guarantee card) this shop is not for you.

There are a couple of bookshops in Kirkwall, but in my view neither of them understand the meaning of ‘customer service’. Tam’s bookshop has been one of my favourite places ever since I’ve known Orkney. The very first week I was here I decided to update my collection of reference books, to make sure I had the most current editions available at the time to celebrate the beginning of the rest of my life. I don’t have a car, so took the bus through to Stromness and headed straight for the bookshop. I found several of the books on my list and Tam offered to order the others I wanted.

It was early on a Saturday morning when my telephone rang. It was the first time I’d ever had my own phone – not a payphone in the hall or one I had to share with several other people who all seemed to indulge in unbelievably long calls – so it was still a thrill to me every time someone rang. It was the assistant at the bookshop letting me know my books had arrived. I was impressed, it had only been a few days since I’d been in the shop. I said I’d pick them up some time during the following week. Less than ten minutes later there was another call. It was the young man at the bookshop again. He realised I had a Kirkwall number. He said he could send the books through to the local library if that would be more convenient. I could collect them from there. I admit I was stunned …. talk about customer service …. amazing. And so it has been ever since. If I know the book I want, all I do is pick up the phone and call Tam (well sometimes his assistant will take the call). The book will be ordered and a few days later Kirkwall library will ring to let me know there is a package for me to collect.

Oh, and about paying for the books. A few weeks later, sometimes even months later Tam will send me an invoice – to pay at my convenience, you understand. I think he’s probably surprised to receive my cheque in the post just a few days later. I know myself though. If I didn’t send off the cheque straight away, I’d most likely forget. I’d hate to abuse old fashioned trust.

The Trials of a Distillery Tour Guide

Notes from a North Sea Island

"Where am I?"

The rather large American lady bumbles through the door behind her fellow cruise passengers. For a split second concern registers in my brain that she might not fit through. A flash of horror …. what if she got stuck?

It’s eight o’clock in the morning and I’m handing out drams of whisky to our guests with a huge, if slightly cheesy, welcoming grin fixed firmly on my face.

“What’s that” the American lady booms stretching out a podgy hand to meet the tumbler I’m holding out to her.

“It’s Highland Park whisky”.

The nose wrinkles, and with a rather loud sniff the hand drops heavily to her side.

"Is that what you make here?”t certainly is”. I try to keep the despair out of my voice.

“It’s too early in the day for me”, the glass is pushed back at me as she flounces past, her shoulder bag floating out behind her, as though trying to give her wings, and almost knocking the tray out of my hand.

“Oh yeah, I’ll have one of those”, the companion of the American lady reaches out eagerly to receive a glass of the amber nectar. About to follow her friend into the viewing room, where a short introductory film is about to be shown, the second lady suddenly stops dead in her tracks, as though something deeply significant has just occurred to her.

“Where are we?” I’m perhaps not quite able to hide my puzzlement.

“You’re at the Highland Park Whisky Distillery”, I answer as clearly as possible, wondering whether the poor woman’s suffered a sudden ‘bad turn’, causing her to have some kind of bizarre brain storm.
“No, I mean which Port are we in?” the lady persists, sounding a little desperate now.

Ah, the joys of a luxury cruise. See the world in twenty three days, a different city every night, see a million sights and try to remember which monument, museum, structure or statue you saw where. I guess it must be confusing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A brief calm as the visitors watch on screen how the ‘water of life’ is made while sipping their drams, before the guides take them out on a tour of the Distillery in groups of fifteen.

So, first off the Barley Loft and Malting Floors. Here the visitors exclaim over the huge steeps, the size of the barley store, capable of holding up to six hundred tonnes of grain, and delight over the two Distillery cats, Malt and Barley, frolicking together on the floor in the group’s midst. Visitors love the idea of being handed a handful of the green malt to examine in minute detail, before allowing it to run through their fingers back onto the floor.

Next stop, the first of Highland Park’s two kilns. I once took on tour a group of annoyingly cocky school children from Amsterdam (I guess I must have drawn the short straw that day). I was patiently explaining to them that we use coke (a type of coal which has had its gases removed) to dry the malt, rather than natural coal which could possibly impart an undesirable flavour to the malt, when a small hand went up. Momentarily I was thrilled to think I had held that young person’s attention for long enough to encourage her to raise a question. My delight, however, quickly turned to horror.

Oh dear, I thought. She hadn’t been listening properly after all, especially as I’d been holding a piece of the grubby black stuff in my hand all the while I was talking. I imagined the girl was now seeing the kiln stuffed full of cans of cola in her mind’s eye and was probably wondering if she could have one.

“Yes, I do”, I affirmed. I was just bending down to pick up the piece of coke again which I had dropped onto the floor, when I was arrested half way by her desire for further clarification of this point.

“Do you mean ‘coke’ as in cocaine?”

I think my jaw must have dropped to my boots. I must admit it took me the best part of the rest of the tour to recover from the shock.

To the Mash House. The anecdote that never fails to raise a few smiles is the one about World War II when the Italian POWs stationed on the Islands allegedly came to the Distillery in the early mornings to take their bath in the huge washbacks used for fermentation. I always took pains to reassure my group that the evidence of this practice has long since disappeared as the washbacks are steam cleaned after each use.

The Still House is, of course, always a ‘wow factor’. Seeing the four great stills at such close quarters cannot fail to impress while one’s nostrils are infused with the intoxicating vapour of raw alcohol, which some days is almost totally overpowering.

Last, but by no means least we come to the bonded warehouse, home of the maturing whisky for the next dozen years or more. While admiring rows upon rows of casks in this dark and almost spooky place visitors learn about Magnus Eunson, the Distillery’s founder going about his clandestine activities of producing illicit whisky when he wasn’t preaching to his devoted parishioners.

On returning to the Visitor Centre there is the chance to sample another dram, if desired, and to purchase a few souvenirs and a bottle (or maybe two) of the fine product produced at this, the most northerly Scottish whisky distillery in the world.

Uisge Beatha … The Water of Life

Notes from a North Sea Island

“To make whisky it takes barley, water and yeast”.

So I began my tours during the six years I worked as a guide at the Highland Park Whisky Distillery. Until I started working for myself as a freelance writer, this was the most fun I had ever had during my entire working life. Every day was different and I was always meeting new people, even if most of them only became acquaintances for between thirty minutes to an hour. It was such a thrill to be able to pass on my enthusiasm for Orkney to the visitors and contribute to the pleasant memories they took away from their visit to these shores.

The Highland Park Distillery, established in 1798, lies on the rise above the town of Kirkwall. The founder was Magnus Eunson, who was a gentleman of some ingenuity. By day he practiced as a clergyman while at night he indulged in making his illicit whisky. Orkney being the small and remote place it is news travelled quickly and he would know in good time when the excise officer set foot on the Islands, enabling him to hide the whisky underneath the pulpit in his kirk.

In fact, whisky continued to be made illegally at Rosebank, the site of the present Distillery for a total of twenty seven years before a change In the law at last made distilling a viable business proposition. Ironically, the original buildings were owned by the very excise officer who had finally arrested Magnus Eunson a decade earlier. The main attraction of the site were the springs of crystal-clear water, about half a mile away at a spot known as Cattie Maggie.

Today Highland Park prides itself as being the northern most Scottish Whisky Distillery in the world. It is one of only five Distilleries left which carries out its own malting. Whisky connoisseurs come here from all over the world to witness this long and labour intensive process. Once the barley has begun to germinate after having been soaked in ‘steeps’ for forty eight hours, it is transferred to the 'Malting Floors'. When the tiny ‘shoots’ appear, it becomes known as ‘green malt’. Depending on the time of year, the green malt will remain spread out on the vast concrete floors for about a week while the germination continues. During this time the malt is turned at least three times a day, using a ‘turner’ which looks like a huge electric lawnmower and weighs over 200kg. Next, the drying process. At Highland Park malt is dried in two separate kilns for a total of fifty hours. First over peat, which infuses the end product with the delicate heathery notes particular to this whisky and then over coke, a type of coal which has had its gases removed. When the malt is ready it is moved to the floor of the kiln, situated about ten metres above the kiln itself, by means of a small elevator. The dried malt is then ground and separated into three components. Grits is the coarsest element, then grist and finally flour. The grist and the flour hold the natural sugars which will eventually turn onto alcohol during the distillation process.

The mashing begins when the product from the mill is filtered into the steel mashtun by means of a huge industrial cone or funnel and is then immersed in water which is exchanged three times at increasing temperatures. Great metal blades mix the mash inside the mashtun, extracting all the natural sugars. The resulting liquid is cooled before being drained into massive 'washbacks' for the fermentation to take place. Fermentation lasts around fifty hours. The ‘wash’, as it is now known contains around 7% alcohol at this stage.

Scottish whisky is distilled twice. The wash is transferred into the so-called ‘wash stills’. The liquid is brought to boiling point by steam coils in the base of the stills. Along with the resulting steam the vapour is driven off and cooled in a condenser before passing into the 'spirit safe' in liquid form. Here it is managed, ie. analysed for purity and strength, without direct contact with the spirit, thereby enabling the distiller to keep to strict laws regulating the whisky industry. From the spirit safe the liquid, known as 'low wines' at this point, are directed into the low wine receiver.

After the first distillation the low wines contain around 27% alcohol. They are now transferred into ‘low wine stills’ and following the second distillation the resulting spirit will hold around 70% volume.

At this point the final and longest step of the whisky making process begins. The raw spirit is filled into sherry and bourbon casks for maturation. Highland Park ages its whisky for 12 18, 21 and 25 years. While being stored in bonded warehouses for these respective periods of time the volume is reduced by about 2% a year through evaporation. Known as the 'angel’s share' this loss eventually dilutes the alcohol volume to between 40 and 53%, depending on the length of time whisky is aged for.

Last Day of the Year

Notes from a North Sea Island

The Orcadian, Orkney's local newspaper, is 150 years old today. It's the weekly 'fix' of most people here. Somehow one feels deprived and strangely disloyal to the community when one is unable to catch up with local events on a Thursday. The paper has a huge following, not just at home, but abroad too. Each week hundreds of copies are sent out all over the world. Young people leaving the Islands to continue their education at college or university, people going 'south' to pursue their careers, visitors who have been bitten by the 'island life' bug, relatives of those living here and many, many others look forward to keeping abreast of the news and issues from this group of rocks in the North Sea.

During its 150 year history The Orcadian has of course seen some changes, but always its unfailing purpose has been to inform the residents and friends of Orkney accurately and truthfully of news and the newsworthy as it unfolds and develops. From its humble beginnings of four pages written in a very formal tone, to its present day size of around forty pages it has only had eleven editors. The last one remained in the post for thirty six years. He retired in 1983 and was awarded the MBE for his services to journalism the following year.The Orkney Blast. It's role was to act as a moral booster to the men and women in the troops who had left the County to participate in the D-Day landings. At least 6,000 copies were printed and distributed each week and helped to entertain and inform service personnel of the happenings back home.

Today the Orcadian's voice is rather more chatty and accessible. Like any other quality regional newspaper it does a superb job covering local news. It often also reports on well known local people or celebrities who have left the Islands for one reason or another. The most recent of these was of course Cameron Stout, winner of the 'Big Brother House'. Then there was the family who embarked on a round-the-world trip gypsy-style in a horse and carriage as well as other tales of folk working in Brazil, Argentina or Australia. It goes without saying that there are 'Entertainment' pages listing all the local events, festivals, concerts, cinema movies and a round-up of reviews of shows and events throughout Orkney. The 'Letters' page often sees some fairly heated discussions and last, but by no means least, several pages are devoted to sport events in and around the County.

Happy anniversary! Please raise your glasses and let's toast the next 150 years.

The Weatherman Says .....

Notes from a North Sea Island

I woke up to snow today. Well, it's just a light covering here in town, but it's snow nevertheless. It came silently overnight, like gentle angel tears. As I drew back the curtains to see what the day was like an unfamiliar glow greeted me as I looked down from my bedroom window. While I have been writing the white stuff has been falling again, quite thick now, but lasting only a few minutes at a time. The sun has actually bothered to get out of bed this morning, so in between the brief snow showers it struggles to bless us with a few feeble rays. Then the sky suddenly goes dark and murky again before the next lot snow flakes float down to the ground, kissing on route the cheeks of anyone who happens to be out, going about their daily business.

Today is just a normal day in these parts. The rubbish is being collected, cars are travelling along the damp streets again, some of them much too fast for safety in the present conditions and the postie in his van has just delivered a package to the house next door.

The schools are off for another week, I think, and in the outlying areas, where the snow is probably already thicker on the ground, children will be out in gardens and fields, trying to build snowmen with varying degrees of success.

The climate in Orkney is generally fairly temperate thanks to the Gulf stream that runs not far from these shores. Temperatures rarely drop below freezing in the winter and any snow usually only lasts a few days. We have a high rainfall, however, due to a combination of the low level of the land and the warming effect of the surrounding sea.

In recent years we have had two particularly harsh winters. Arctic winds from the north caused heavy snow fall and strong winds made drifting a real problem, particularly outside the towns. In 1995 it was so bad that Orkney was effectively cut off from the rest of the world, since the Airport was shut for a week and the ferries were unable to operate for several days. The roads were icy and treacherous for weeks and the gritters were simply unable to cope. The winter of 2001 was another bad one. During this season the schools were forced to close for about a week. Of course the children didn’t mind. They were able to take full advantage of the winter wonderland all around them. Kirkwall Airport came to a standstill for three days.

January and February are the worst months of the year. Somehow the fact that the days should be getting longer by now doesn’t always alleviate the sense of gloom and doom that the weather seems to bring along. I am not a meteorologist, but I have the feeling that this time we might be spared from too much winter misery after the New Year.

St. Magnus Cathedral

Notes from a North Sea Island

The building of St. Magnus Cathedral was started in Kirkwall in 1137 by the Norse Earl Rognvald. He had been granted half of the Earldom of Orkney by the King of Norway and came to Orkney with the express intention of reclaiming rights lost by his uncle, Earl Magnus of Orkney: and to build a "church of stone" to celebrate his uncle's Sainthood.

The real story of the Cathedral therefore begins with Earl Magnus. In 1117 he and his cousin, Hakon, were the joint Earls of Orkney, but there was considerable enmity between their followers. It was agreed that the two would meet to resolve their differences, each bringing only two ships, on the island of Egilsay.

Magnus had already gained a reputation for piety and gentleness, having declined to carry arms during a raid on the Welsh some years before. He arrived for the meeting on Egilsay on 16 April 1117 with his two ships, but Hakon then arrived with eight.

The Ceiling
Hakon ordered his cook, Lifolf to kill Magnus after others in his party had refused to do so. Lifolf killed Magnus with an axe blow to the head. He was buried in the Norse church at Birsay and 16 April quickly became established as St Magnus day by popular acclaim. So when Earl Rognvald came to Orkney twenty years later it was to reclaim his half of the Earldom from Hakon's son.

This he did, and he also built his "church of stone". What you see today is the result of near continuous work over the following 875 years. But much of the glory is owed to the original vision that built the church using red sandstone quarried near Kirkwall and yellow sandstone from the island of Eday. These were often used in alternating courses or in a chequerboard pattern and add greatly to the overall effect.

The Nave

The Winter Solstice That Never Was

Notes from a North Sea Island

Approach to Maes Howe The Entrance

Maes Howe is probably the finest example of architecture in prehistoric Europe. It is the largest of this type of chambered cairn. It has a low, narrow entrance, 9m in length, leading into a chamber 4.5m square. During the 12th Century Viking raiders broke into the tomb, leaving the largest known collection of runes, and carvings of a dragon, a serpent and a walrus. They entered via a small opening in the roof. For most of the year the cairn lies in complete darkness except for the period of about a week during both the summer and the winter solstice, when the sun is directly above the opening, lighting up the central chamber with a tiny shaft of golden light. Visitors arrive from all the corners of the earth to witness this fascinating spectacle. Being so small the tomb can comfortably only accommodate about five or six people at a time and often a long line of folk can be seen braving the cold, waiting to get inside.

This year however, the winter solstice has been a washout. At this time of year daylight lasts only for about six hours, but these are often filled with beautiful winter sunshine and clear blue skies. This December has been an exception. For the last four weeks it has been grey and overcast with low cloud shrouding these Islands as though trying to hide them from the rest of the world. Generally speaking it had been quite mild until last week when wind and rain swept across fields and through villages and towns reminding the Orkney people that the mild conditions of late were just a brief reprieve from what is no doubt still to come in the New Year. On December 21 itself there was even a light covering of snow and not just on the hills either. It reached right down to the lowest lying land.

The Central Chamber The Passage

The lack of sunshine this month has been bad news for tourism. Besides agriculture it is the Islands’ main industry. It depends on the relatively small yet hardened core of winter visitors to give the local economy a much needed fillip during the low season. This year they stayed away. A bitter blow when the British economy in general is in a bad way and the local one in particular is in difficulty. I heard in a report last week that Orkney's economy is the only one in the country which has increased by zero percent this year. Not good.

The Christmas Day Ba'

Notes from a North Sea Island

It rained heavily overnight and I was beginning to think it was going to be a miserable day for the players. By 9.00am, however, dawn was accompanied by gentle rays of morning sun which hung over the town like a delicate net of the finest gold silk.

Last year there was snow, wonderful crisp air and a luminous sun in a clear blue sky. My best friend and I went out with a flask of mulled wine and watched the Ba’ for about an hour or so.

The Ba’ game has been played in its present form since about 1850, but its elements originated very much earlier. There are records of it occurring going right back to Greek and Roman times. There is believed to have been a French version of the game very similar to the Kirkwall Ba’, but it died out around the turn of the 20^th Century. Today it survives in only a few towns in Scotland and England, such as Jedburgh, Ashbourne and Workington.

There are two teams, the Uppies and the Doonies and each has a fixed goal. The Uppies finish at the wall of a house that stands at the road junction leading out of town. The Doonies have theirs in the harbour basin. If the Doonies win the winner follows the Ba’ into the freezing water.

Originally the decision on which side someone played was determined by where in the town he was born, but today it is often down to where family loyalties lie. Which team incomers, or ferryloopers, play with depends on the route by which they first arrived in the town. If someone came by plane they are an Uppie, if they arrived on the ferry they are a Doonie.

There are actually two games on both Christmas Day and New Year’s Day. The boys’ game begins at 11.00am, while the Men’s’ Ba’ starts at 1.00pm. On both occasions the Ba’ is thrown up next to a cross situated in front of the 3,000 year old St. Magnus Cathedral, known as the Merkat Cross. The task of throwing up the Ba’ is usually undertaken by an older stalwart of the Ba’, or sometimes by a local public figure. Up to two hundred eager pair of hands will be waiting to catch the Ba’ before it disappears into the scrum and then pushed along the street.

The players’ family, friends and supporters throng the streets, line the pavements, hang out of windows of the houses and buildings along the route shouting encouragement all the while and urging their teams to do their best. The men’s’ game can take anything up to six hours and often the Ba’ will become ‘stuck’ in a corner or narrow passage for a very long time, before it is able to break lose from the scrum and give the other team a chance to catch it and coax it towards their own goal.