Our Defensive Ancestors

While traversing Highland Scotland recently, I marvelled not only at how uninhabited it is but also at how it always has been (at least there are no archaeological sites to indicate otherwise), whereas on the Orkney Isles, a short ferry crossing north of its tip, ruins of 5000-year-old settlements abound. One explanation might be that small populations, needing to protect themselves from predators, settled in positions that are easy to defend, such as small islands, where there is less likelihood of attackers approaching from the hinterland.

This attraction notwithstanding, it is hard to imagine ancient peoples living in such isolated places as these. When I was there, in June, the weather was clement and the days seemed endless but, at that latitude on the edge of the Atlantic, winter is a tough challenge. Still, I suppose they had no choice but to persevere: they would not have known that it was easier to build stone circles in balmy Wiltshire and, even if they did, had no means to migrate there. And maybe it wasn’t so bad after all: seafood was plentiful, the land was fertile during the short growing season and they had become accustomed to the climate.

These days the Highlands and Islands are one region, the defence of which lies in the hands of the motherland United Kingdom. Modernity has made life less arduous for inhabitants of the northern fringe, seafood is plentiful enough to supply a huge export market and the summer encourages an influx of tourists from near and far. There are Southern softies like me, come for a fix of wild landscapes: people from deepest Europe, for the rugged coastline; those from flattest Europe, for the mountains; and Americans come to see the country of their ancestors. Overall, it’s a popular tourist destination, attracting even the famous and the wealthy. The late Queen Mother liked it so much that she bought a modest holiday home here (the Castle of May) to which she – and her household staff – retreated every August for two weeks (though, personally, I am surprised that her holiday entitlement was so mean). In the early days, her family would sail up on the Royal Yacht to join her but latterly, the boat having been given up, they drove.

Most tourists do get around by driving but there is a hard core slugging it out on bicycles. I saw grim-faced cyclists, their machines laden with luggage, pedalling in super-low gear up the steepest of inclines. I felt sorry for them, even though they had chosen to travel this way and their plight was not my concern. In any case, they sported a more gleeful expression on the downhill stints. Actually, my hero was the man with the donkey. I saw him a couple of times, strolling along with his four-legged friend carrying their gear from place to place. I don’t know whether he made it to Orkney (are donkeys permitted on ferries?)  but I thought it the perfect way to tour, nevertheless.

My first visit to Orkney was in 1996, when I stopped overnight with a group of fellow sailors on our return from Svalbard. We took the opportunity to see the Neolithic village at Skara Brae and the Ring of Brodgar standing stones. As I recall it, there were no ticket booths and we were the only admirers present. The circumstances made it a special experience, for which I am thankful, because the area is now designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which means that fences and visitor centres have been erected to cope with the increased numbers of tourists and the magic is gone.

Meanwhile, at Hoxa Head, ruins that are more recent attract attention – the WWII concrete fortifications built to protect the Royal Naval fleet at anchor in Scapa Flow. They are intact but beginning to crumble. A thousand years from now, will tourists look on them and marvel at the defences built to protect an ancient, primitive civilisation?