J D Davies - Historian and Author

The website and blog of naval historian and bestselling author J D Davies

Orkney

Not A Norse Saga

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(With apologies to the real Norse sagas, especially the greatest of them all, that unmissable TV staple of my childhood, Noggin the Nog.)

 

Runes the First

Harken, ye warriors, as you sit by your campfires in the long dark nights.

It was a time of heroes. To those who considered them so, these were Kor-binn the Mighty; Borrice son of Stanli, the slayer of Ee-ew the dragon; Donaeld the Wallbuilder; and Moggin the Mogg.

It was a time of villains. To those who considered them so, these were Kor-binn the Treacherous; Borrice Hairbrain; Donaeld Hairfail; and Moggbad the Bad.

In those times, there lived a bard named Davnar the Storyteller, who was accompanied by his faithful companion, Wend the Shield-Maiden.

And Wend said, ‘I fancy getting away from this winter weather. Somewhere warm, like the sun-drenched banks of the Orinoco’.

But Davnar misheard, and thought she said ‘Orkney’.

And so they ventured forth unto Asgard, the sky capital of the gods – or, as the non-Norse unbelievers name it, ‘Heathrow’ – and boarded the flying chariot that would carry them north.

Asgard. Baggage reclaim is on the second moon.

That is to say, the 1210 British Airchariots flight to Aberdeen, there being no direct flying chariot to Kirkwall – or, as the non-Norse unbelievers name it, ‘Kirkwall’.

 

Runes the Second

Harken, ye warriors, as you sit by your campfires in the long dark nights.

Lo, the flying chariot took off only an hour late, despite the arrival of the great apocalypse foretold in the Saga of A Fish Called Michael, the fearful storm that heralds the end of days, the harbinger of darkness, named by some as ‘the Beast from the East’.

Or, as others term it, ‘winter’.

‘Winter is coming’, to coin a phrase

The flying chariot approached Aberdeen, with plenty of time in hand to catch the connecting chariot. But what woe is this? The chariot could not land, for the runway was blocked by snow!

(For some reason, this amused another group of passengers on the chariot, namely the Canadian junior curling valkyries, who muttered strange incantations like ‘you call this snow’?)

And thus the flying chariot circled Aberdeen in what the ancient soothsayers term ‘a holding pattern’, as all the while the Beast from the East, whipped up by its undoubted master Loki, did its worst!

Or, as others term it, ‘winter’.

Alas, woe upon woe! That fabled palace of legend, Aberdeen Air Traffic Control, sayeth that the runway would not open until after our chariot’s winged steeds fell, exhausted, from the skies!

Or, as the non-Norse unbelievers term it, ‘run out of gas, guvn’or’.

 

Runes the Third

Harken, ye warriors, as you sit by your campfires in the long dark nights.

And thus the flying chariot was diverted to Valhalla itself, where He That is Called the Special One and He That is Called Pep do battle in the Theatre of Dreams.

Or, as the non-Norse unbelievers name it, ‘Manchester’.

British Airchariots Airbus A321

But what new calamity is this? Even as our winged chariot approached, Valhalla’s runway, too, closed because of the dread mischief of the Beast from the East!

(Or, as the Canadian junior curling valkyries had it, ‘Are you kidding us? You could bury Toronto under hundred foot snowdrifts and the airport would still be open’.)

Thus was the flying chariot diverted once again, this time unto the most dreaded place of all, Ragnarok.

Or, as the non-Norse unbelievers name it, ‘Liverpool’.

Or, to be absolutely precise, ‘Liverpool John Lennon’ – he, of course, being the greatest Ragnarokker of all.

(Seest thou what I didst there?)

 

Runes the Fourth

Harken, ye warriors, as you sit by your campfires in the long dark nights.

The guardians of the sacred mysteries of Ragnarok

Thus were Davnar, Wend, the Canadian junior curling valkyries, the Irish Bloke, and all the other passengers of the winged chariot, safe at last upon the firm ground of Ragnarok!

Alas! Woe, woe and thrice woe! British Airchariots fly not from Ragnarok, and thus the guardians of its sacred mysteries refused to provide fresh winged steeds, saying instead that everyone should calm down!

Verily, our charioteer offered to pay for new winged steeds with his own bag of gold!!

Finally, after several ceaseless eternities, during which stars were born and perished, gods rose and fell – or, as others term it, ‘two hours’ – winged steeds were obtained, and our chariot took to the skies once more!

British Airchariots pilot Timothy Poots-Blenerhassett

To Aberdeen, you ask, thus enabling Davnar and Wend to get to Kirkwall after all?

No. Back to Asgard, where the winged chariot landed dozens of millennia – or, as others term it, ‘eight hours’ – after it had left.

 

Runes the Fifth

Harken, ye warriors, as you sit by your campfires in the long dark nights.

So, after all of these mighty trials inflicted by the wrath of Loki and his Beast from the East, did British Airchariots provide warm beds before roaring log fires in cheery halls, endless flagons of mead, bags of gold, and fresh winged chariots to waft the weary folk to their destinations?

Did they fföäkk.

A self-respecting weasel

They provided one harassed maiden in a cloak of invisibility – or, as others term it, ‘a hi-vis jacket’ – who proclaimed baldly that all the cheery halls were fully booked, and proceeded to hand out instead a scroll of parchment bearing weasel words, which even any self-respecting weasel would disown.

So Davnar and Wend retrieved their own chariot (non-airborne) from the Cavern of Dark Mysteries that is Asgard Terminal 5 Meet and Greet, returned to their own hall, battened down against both the Beast from the East and the whispers carried by it (generally along the lines of ‘who the fföäkk goes on holiday to Orkney in winter anyway?’), quaffed flagons of mead, and rued the day they trusted to British Airchariots.

Thus your storyteller sayeth farewell. But, noble warriors at your campfires, if you consider this far too unlikely a saga even for what the unbelievers term ‘Norse myths’ – well, it’s even made the national press, with quotes from Wend the Shield-Maiden herself. So it must be true, because as we all know, the national press never, ever, peddles myths.

Let the last word be with Wend (as, of course, it always is): ‘next time, we’re taking the longship’.

 

And the moral of this saga is…

Keep on rune-ing.

 

 

Orkney and Shetland Road Trip, Part 5

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On one level, Orkney has more heritage than it knows what to do with. Great monuments that would be major tourist attractions in the south of England sit in remote fields, virtually unknown: ‘oh look, that big mound must be yet another Neolithic tomb / ho hum, yet another virtually intact World War II gun battery’. But nothing quite prepares you for the unexpected. For example, I knew St Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall had a memorial to HMS Royal Oak, sunk by U-47 in Scapa Bay in October 1939. Very moving it is, too, the centrepiece being the salvaged ship’s bell, which hangs above a book of remembrance containing the names of those killed. But I hadn’t expected the magnificent Cathedral to contain probably the best collection of seventeenth-century grave slabs I’d ever seen. Brought inside to protect them from the elements, they line the walls of the aisles and choir, many of them bearing elaborate memento mori. Some look as though they could have been sculpted yesterday; by contrast, the tomb of the Arctic explorer John Rae is a typically florid piece of Victoriana.???????????????????????????????

The visit to Kirkwall formed part of our trip down over the Churchill Barriers. The eastern entrances to Scapa Flow formed the main vulnerability of the great anchorage, and during World War I steps were taken to seal these with blockships. The remains of some of these have proved remarkably durable, notably that of the Reginald, a schooner, but by 1939 other wrecks had changed position or deteriorated, leaving the barrier incomplete. This weakness was exploited by Gunther Prien, who conned U-47 through Kirk Sound, found Royal Oak at anchor and eventually managed to torpedo her after several failed attempts before leaving by the same route. The First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, locked the stable door by ordering the construction of barriers between the mainland and the islands on the eastern side of the flow. This was a lengthy and difficult engineering feat; the first barrier was not completed until 1942. Fortunately, a new source of labour became available, namely Italian prisoners of war taken in the North African campaigns. Those who were held at Camp 60 on Lamb Holm, the nearest island to the mainland, were responsible for one of the most remarkable of all Orkney’s historic monuments??????????????????????????????? – the Italian Chapel, an ingenious conversion of a Nissen hut into an enduring tribute to the power of faith. Ironically, though, the chapel was only finished after the Italian prisoners had been moved from Scapa at the end of the war.

Our final day on Orkney was spent at Stromness, a delightful town which has a fascinating, old-fashioned museum (and hats off to it for staying open in the depths of winter!). This contains many artefacts salvaged from the wrecks of the German High Seas Fleet, but also has a great deal of material on the town’s maritime history, on John Rae, and on various other episodes of Orkney history that I’d not come across before. One of the most interesting stories was that of the pirate John Gow, immortalised by Defoe, who came to grief while attacking mansions in Orkney in 1725. The museum has several display cases which contain its newest acquisitions, and one of these contains the ‘Pirate Gow’s’ telescope, seized by one of the men who captured him and recently bequeathed to the museum by one of his descendants.

All in all, our stay on Orkney and excursion to Shetland for Up Helly Aa proved to be a truly memorable break. We certainly hope to go back one day, although I think we’ve both decided against repeating the 620 mile road trip to and from the ferry… And the 64,000 dollar question, i.e. will the trip provide inspiration for future books? It might, although the islands have already provided the setting for crime thrillers – notably the Shetland books of Ann Cleeves, soon to be turned into a TV series starring the excellent Douglas Henshall – and for one of the most famous spy stories of the early twentieth century, The Spy in Black. But as I’ve pointed out in previous posts in this series, there was plenty of naval activity in the islands during the seventeenth century, so perhaps Matthew Quinton will find his way there at some point!

Orkney and Shetland Road Trip, Part 1

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As promised, this is the first of a series of short blogs from our week on the Orkney Islands (with a detour to Shetland for the Up Helly Aa festival), concentrating on the naval and 16th/17th century historical aspects.

Stones of StennessDespite the best efforts of the British winter, we both made it to Orkney at just about the same time – yours truly via the ferry across a relatively benign Pentland Firth after a 3-day road trip (including a day’s stopover to do some research), Wendy by plane. We’re staying right in the middle of Orkney’s major Neolithic heritage area, which has World Heritage status: the standing stones of Stenness are literally in the next field, the famous Ring of Brodgar and Maeshowe chambered tomb just short walks away. The wonderful house we’ve taken for the week is called Odin, which can be seen in the background of my picture of the Stones of Stenness above). It’s on the site of the so-called Odin Stone, which was destroyed by a local farmer in 1814, and was built in 1936 by a retired master mariner who wanted to see water from all sides of his home. The house contains a number of original fittings of the famous liner RMS Mauretania, which was scrapped at Inverkeithing in 1935 – unsurprisingly, this was one of the features which made us choose it for the holiday!

House at Skara BraeAnyway, today started with a Neolithic-fest at the Ring of Brodgar and the astonishing Skara Brae village, which was occupied some 5,000 years ago, long before Stonehenge or the Pyramids were built. The remarkably intact houses were exposed by a storm in 1850, and subsequent excavations revealed a complex network of homes, linking passageways and workshops. Because so much stone was used in their construction, it’s possible to obtain a real insight into the lives of the Neolithic people who lived there; the ‘frames’ of their beds survive, as do the stone dressers that stood directly opposite the entrance to show off the occupants’ most treasured possessions. Stone-age bling, indeed – plus ça change! Best of all, we had the place virtually to ourselves. Apparently they get something like 2,000 visitors a day at the height of summer, and as it’s a relatively small site, one wonders just how good the experience can be.

Kitchener memorialWe had cold wind and rain at Skara Brae; by the time we got to Marwick Head, a short way up the coast, it was just the wind, with the sea breaking spectacularly onto the rocks below. (See the picture at the end of this post.) A fairly steep cliff path took us up to the memorial tower erected by the people of Orkney to Field Marshal Earl Kitchener, who was killed in these waters on 5 June 1916 when the cruiser HMS Hampshire struck a mine. Interestingly, the memorial plaque eulogises Kitchener but mentions the loss of the ship and 643 of her 655 men almost as an afterthought.

Our final stop for the day was the Earl’s Palace at Birsay, in the north west corner of Orkney’s mainland. This was built in the late 16th century by Robert Stewart, Earl of Orkney, the illegitimate half-brother of Mary, Queen of Scots. His harsh, oppressive rule on the islands (and on Shetland) was merely the prelude to the bizarre record of his son Patrick, who built a vast new palace in Kirkwall, the Orcadian capital. Known as Black Patie and regarded in Orkney’s history as ‘a symbol for evil and misrule’ (Oxford Dictionary of National Biography), Patrick was executed in 1615 after becoming implicated in a revolt by his illegitimate son.Earl's Palace, Birsay My interest in this period of Scottish history runs deep – hence my book, Blood of Kings, about the ‘Gowrie conspiracy’ of 1600 – so when I saw a new book on the Stewarts Earls of Orkney on sale at the Skara Brae visitor centre, I snapped it up! I also bought James Miller’s book on the Royal Navy’s use of Scapa Flow, and all being well, it’s that side of Orkney’s history that we’ll be exploring tomorrow. I hope to post about that tomorrow night, so please check back then!Marwick Head

Looking at Things The Right Way Up

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Cards on the table: sat nav is the spawn of Satan. So, too, are such iniquities as reality TV shows, Welsh rugby teams that aren’t the Scarlets, and, of course, caravans, but today I’m concerned with geography. I refuse to use sat nav, partly because I prefer to rely on maps and that trusty piece of equipment, the Mark One Eyeball, partly because I’m of the opinion that it drains drivers’ ability to think for themselves and to deploy that increasingly underused commodity, common sense. Witness the recent story about the Belgian woman who set out to drive to Brussels, 90 miles away, and ended up in Zagreb, 900 miles away, because she was relying on her sat nav and ‘got distracted’ (with respect, madame, that’s one heck of a lot of distraction). Ok, I’ll admit that my aversion to sat nav sometimes leads me to take unexpected alternative routes – anyone thinking ‘huh, that’s a euphemism for getting lost’ is toast – but I always take the view that this might lead me to discover interesting places that I wouldn’t have come across otherwise. I can invariably get back on track pretty quickly due to a very well-developed sense of direction and good map reading skills, plus always factoring in lots of time for journeys. From quite an early age, my dad let me do the navigating whenever we went for long drives (which was often), so I quickly became a skilled map reader. This later led on to my becoming pretty good at Geography – indeed, it was notionally my second teaching subject, which I’ve actually taught to 15-16 year olds – and, when I started sailing, to taking to navigation like a duck to water.

All this is by way of preamble to the fact that later this week, I’ll be driving all the way to the very northern end of Scotland and then taking the ferry to Orkney, where we’ll be spending a week; apart, that is, from a day and a bit in Shetland, where we’ll be going to see the Up Helly Aa festival, something that I’ve always wanted to see. The wisdom of making the journey by road given the current weather conditions in Britain, or of making it in January at all, remains to be seen, but I’m taking three days to get up there, doing some research en route, with Wendy flying up at the weekend after she finishes work. When we first started planning the trip, my thinking was pretty conventional, along the lines of ‘it’s a very long way, and the islands are pretty remote’. But the more I thought about it and placed it in a historical context, the more I realised that this way of thinking is just lazy.  To start with, what we Brits consider ‘a long way’ would be regarded very differently by my friends in Australia and the mid-west of the United States, to give just two examples, while the islands are only ‘remote’ if one falls into the trap of donning certain historical and geographical straitjackets. As a Welshman, I’ve spent a lot of my career as a historian battling against the Anglocentric, and frequently Londoncentric, biases that dominate a lot of allegedly ‘British’ history, and obviously, those mentalities would see Orkney and Shetland (along with my own place of origin in south-west Wales) as ‘remote’ and peripheral. But it’s interesting that the same problem even seems to affect Orkney and Shetland within Scotland; as in Britain as a whole, the capital is situated in the extreme south-eastern corner of the country, leading to a perception of a warped perspective from Edinburgh-based politicians and media and to a sense in the northern islands that they’re perceived as just as remote from the Scottish capital as they are from London. It’s even been suggested that this could play a part in the islands’ reaction to the forthcoming Scottish independence referendum, with the possibility that they might prefer to stay with the remainder of the UK than go with an independent, Edinburgh-dominated Scotland. It’ll be interesting to see if we pick up any vibes about this while we’re up there.

Note the subconscious geographical bias in that last sentence – ‘up there’. This, of course, is one of the great dangers of my grumpy old man’s adherence to maps in preference to sat nav. There have been a number of controversies about, and a great deal of literature produced about, the alleged political biases of mapping, which has always been used as a propaganda weapon by governments or else has been accused of perpetuating ethnic or racial superiority (for example, the Mercator projection was attacked for its portrayal of a big Europe and north America as against a small Africa and India). From a British perspective, entire generations grew up with attitudes to the world and to their place in it that were shaped by maps which showed the British Isles pretty much at the centre of the world, whole swathes of which were coloured red (and having the prime meridian going through Greenwich, the outcome of a cartographic war with the French, only enhanced the mindset of geographical superiority). Witness, too, the vast raft of preconceptions, assumptions and biases implicit in using ‘Down Under’ to describe Australia. Then there was the uproar when the BBC changed its weather map to one which stretched the south of England, squashed Scotland and moved Shetland a long way further south, a common mapping ploy which gives a warped picture of where the islands really are; in reality, Shetland is nearer to Bergen, in Norway, than to Edinburgh. It’s interesting that these distorted perceptions only seem to have developed since it became possible to establish longitude, and maps took on their standard form with the north ‘at the top’. Seventeenth century people would have had a much more flexible mentality: maps of the time have south, west or east at the top just as often as north, or else give an entirely different perspective. This affects the history of Orkney and Shetland, which were arguably much more central to both politics and naval strategy in the early modern period than they are now – a subject to which I’ll return next week.

My current intention for next week is not to do the usual big single blog on a Monday but to do some ‘mini-blogs’ about Orkney and Shetland, focusing primarily on the naval and 15th-18th century history and heritage as well as general impressions of the islands. But much will depend on what we decide to do during the evenings, on the time available generally, and of course on internet access…oh yes, and on whether we actually get there in the first place… So watch this space for news of the Gentlemen and Tarpaulins road trip!