Scotland (places)

One of the good guys – Robert Owen at New Lanark

Posted on by Platypus Man

For most British people, the early decades of the Industrial Revolution were a grim time to be alive. Conditions were horrendous. Workers routinely had to labour for 12 to 14 hours per day in harshly managed and often dangerous factories, for which they received a pittance in pay that was barely enough to cover basic necessities. And when they got home from their workplaces things got no better, as these workers usually lived in cramped, cold and insanitary accommodation provided by bosses who were motivated solely by the pursuit of profit.

Mill 3 replaced an earlier mill destroyed by fire in 1819. It now houses the site’s main exhibitions, including working mill machinery.

Let’s be honest, some early captains of industry were monsters who cared nothing for the welfare of the men, women and children upon whose lives they impacted. But not all of them. New Lanark in Scotland was proof that there were workable alternatives to rampant, exploitative capitalism.

The “new buildings” were constructed by David Dale as millworker’s housing in 1798. Robert Owen enlarged them as the village size increased.

Founded in 1785, New Lanark is a village in southern Scotland clustered around several cotton mills that harnessed the power of the River Clyde. Under the direction of joint founder David Dale (1739 – 1806), this was an entirely new settlement, built as accommodation for the millworkers and their families. New Lanark thrived. Within a decade of its foundation the village was home to one of the largest and most important cotton mill complexes of its period, employing around 1,500 people.

Prior to his involvement with the New Lanark project, Dale was a prosperous Glasgow-based cloth merchant. He was also a man with a conscience, someone whose philanthropic tendencies tempered, to some degree, his capitalist instincts. This was evidenced by his treatment of the orphan apprentices who worked at his mills – Dale ensured they were taught to read and write, were well fed, and were provided with clothing and decent accommodation.

Although the accommodation it provided was decent by the standards of the day, in the early years of New Lanark whole families lived in a single room.

In 1799 Dale’s daughter Caroline married Robert Owen (1771 – 1858), a Welsh-born industrialist and social reformer. Soon after, David Dale sold New Lanark to his new son-in-law, who formally took over as mill manager in 1800. Owen was committed to continuing the philanthropic approach to industrial working that Dale had initiated, and under his management New Lanark became a model community, emphasizing social welfare and improved living conditions for workers.

Robert Owen was a Utopian social reformer, who aimed to create a perfect, harmonious society in which poverty and unemployment were eliminated. Owen’s abilities as a business manager were central to the success of his social experiment, for it was the profitability of the cotton mills that provided the cash needed to finance schemes designed to improve the lives of his workforce. A vibrant and resilient community was central to his thinking.

Robert Owen’s School for Children was completed in about 1818, providing spacious classrooms for its students. Punishment was not allowed, with strategies of encouragement and kindness being adopted instead.

Owen’s intentions can be discerned from the creation of the Institute for the Formation of Character. Opening in 1817, it was intended to provide educational and recreational facilities for the whole community. Amongst these were a library and reading room, classrooms and halls for concerts and dancing. It also accommodated what is thought to be the world’s first nursery school.

These two photos offer a glimpse the types of mill machinery in use at New Lanark.

About a year after the opening of the Institute, work was completed on Robert Owen’s School for Children. Here’s what the New Lanark Trust has to say about this visionary initiative:

Owen spared no expense in building and equipping his school, and the curriculum included music, dancing and singing, as well as art, natural history, geography and world history. Punishment was not allowed. Instead, kindness, encouragement, and the fostering of children’s natural curiosity were deemed to be much more effective. [Source: New Lanark Heritage Trail – A guide to New Lanark’s Historic Buildings, 2008]

Owen’s idealism is also apparent from the way he set up his Village Store, which was completed in 1813. It effectively had a retail monopoly in the village, and many other industrialists used such arrangements to their financial advantage by providing poor quality goods at inflated prices. In contrast, Owen put the community’s welfare first, buying good quality food and household goods in bulk, and selling these to his workers at close to cost price. Any profits made were re-invested in the village, being put towards the running costs of the School.

Another view of Mill 3.

Robert Owen was clearly one of the good guys, and his enlightened methods attracted international attention. In 1824 he sold the New Lanark mills and moved to the USA, where where he planned to establish a Utopian Community or “Village of Unity and Mutual Cooperation” based upon the principles that had helped shape his grand Scottish project. However this experiment, based at the settlement of New Harmony in Indiana, proved largely unsuccessful and in 1828 he returned to the UK, financially much poorer but still optimistic that one day the rest of the world would come round to his way of thinking.

Owen’s legacy is now preserved by The New Lanark Trust, which was formed in 1974, six years after the final closure of the cotton mills. The village was one of the earliest examples of a planned settlement, where layout, housing design, and green spaces were carefully considered. Its architecture showcased a blend of practicality and aesthetics, emphasizing functionality while maintaining a pleasant environment. All of this can be enjoyed by visitors, who also have an opportunity to get up close to some of the machinery that drove the success of New Lanark’s cotton mills. Tourists can even visit Owen’s modest house, as well as examples of workers’ accommodation.

Although larger and grander than the homes of his workers, Robert Owen’s house is refreshingly modest for the owner of such a large and successful mill complex.

The Trust’s aim has been to restore the village as a living, working community, but one which also offers visitors tantalising glimpses of a lost world shaped by a remarkable man. A measure of its success was evident in 2001, when New Lanark was listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The village and its cotton mills are now a major tourist attraction, and deserve to be visited by anyone with an interest in industrial history.

Dunrobin – a fairy tale castle

Posted on by Platypus Man

No trip to Scotland is complete without visiting a castle. Last year, on our way north to Orkney, we did just that when we broke our journey at Dunrobin, which has been home to the Earls and Dukes of Sutherland since the 13th century. Boasting no fewer than 189 rooms, Dunrobin Castle is the largest great house in the Northern Highlands. It is also one of Britain’s oldest continuously inhabited houses, dating back to the 13th century.

Although vestiges of the early medieval castle remain, they are today buried deep within a much larger and grander structure. A series of extensions over the centuries have transformed the original fortified tower into something altogether different, something apparently straight out of a fairy tale.

One of the men most responsible for the Dunrobin we see today was architect Sir Charles Barry (1795 – 1860), who oversaw a massive remodelling exercise in the mid-19th century. Under Barry’s guidance, Dunrobin morphed into a grand house in the then-fashionable Scottish Baronial style, similar to that adopted at Queen Victoria’s Balmoral residence. 

Barry had a big national reputation. Amongst numerous other accomplishments, in 1836 he won a commission to design the new Palace of Westminster (Houses of Parliament) in London. The Duke of Sutherland’s great wealth and extensive social connections are clearly evidenced by his ability to secure Barry’s services at Dunrobin.

As it happens, that wealth was generated to some considerable degree through the forcible eviction of many thousands of estate tenants during the notorious Highland Clearances. This is something that should, I feel, give visitors pause for thought when they murmur appreciatively at Dunrobin’s undoubted magnificence. The cost of Dunrobin should properly be measured not just in financial terms, but in human terms too.

Dunrobin Castle had an eventful time in the 20th century. In 1915 much of the interior was destroyed by a huge fire, so what we see inside today is largely the work of Scottish architect, Sir Robert Lorimer (1864 – 1929) rather than Charles Barry. Despite the fire, parts of the castle were used as a naval hospital during the First World War, then, later in the century between 1965 and 1972, it was used as a boys’ boarding school. 

Today no trace of the school remains, and instead visitors are offered glimpses of an opulent lifestyle that is almost certainly beyond their reach. The formal gardens are also rather grand, and are another part of Sir Charles Barry’s legacy. They are arranged into two parterres, both laid out around circular pools where fountains playfully splash. The layout of the gardens has changed little since they were planted more than 150 years ago, although new plants are constantly being introduced.

Barry took his inspiration from the Palace of Versailles in Paris. That the Duke of Sutherland was prepared to commission and bankroll such a project in this remote, windswept corner of the Scottish Highlands speaks volumes about his cultural awareness and social ambitions. Visionary? Pretentious? Completely out to lunch? You’ll have to make up your own mind on that one!

Although Dunrobin Castle is impressive and its formal gardens are majestic, I have to confess that the most memorable part of our visit was the falconry display. Falconry is the ancient art of hunting with birds of prey, and for reasons that aren’t entirely clear Dunrobin puts a show every day. No actual hunting takes place, but the birds – including Peregrines, Gyr Falcons and Harris Hawks – are exercised on the Castle lawn, under the watchful eye of the resident and highly knowledgeable falconer. 

The birds are given the opportunity to fly around freely and do so with obvious pleasure, often whizzing just above the heads of an enthralled audience. In the end, however, the birds always return to the falconer, secure in the knowledge that he’ll be providing dinner once the show is over! It’s highly unusual to be able to get so close to birds of prey, and as they were bred in captivity and are plainly well cared for we had no qualms in watching and applauding the show.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

What, then, is the overall verdict on our visit to Dunrobin Castle? Perched on a high terrace and bristling with fairy tale spires and turrets, the castle sits somewhat incongruously within the Scottish Highlands’ landscape. It is a relic of another age, an age when great wealth and all the opportunities that went with it was concentrated in just a few fortunate hands. The splendid gardens and the falconry display add to this other-worldly feeling, making a visit to Dunrobin a somewhat surreal experience. It’s a fascinating place to spend a few hours, but don’t make the mistake of thinking this place has anything to do with the real, 21st century world!

A remarkable Scottish woman and an unexpected Japanese garden

Posted on by Platypus Man

The visitor to Scotland is guaranteed lots of treats, including rugged mountains and romantic castles, glittering lochs and golden beaches. And maybe even a glimpse of a majestic red deer showing off an impressive rack of antlers. But a Japanese garden that’s more than a century old? Really?

The Japanese Garden at Cowden Castle was the brainchild of pioneering Scottish traveller and explorer Isabella Christie (1861-1949), better known to family and friends as ‘Ella’. Daughter of a Scottish industrialist and landowner, from an early age Christie made annual trips to Europe with her parents. When her mother died she continued to travel with her father and also alone or with a friend, visiting Syria, Egypt and Palestine.

Christie’s wanderlust, as well as her bank balance, received a boost following the death of her father in 1902. From 1904 to 1905 she travelled east to India, and then on to Kashmir, Tibet, Ceylon, Malaya and Borneo. Two years later she visited China, Korea and Japan. In 1910 and again in 1912 she took herself off to the Russian Empire, travelling part of the Silk Road and visiting Ashkhabad, Bukhara, Samarkand, Tashkent and Khiva. At a time when most of her contemporaries found their horizons severely restricted by prevailing attitudes towards women, Ella Christie broke the mould.

As an intrepid and inquisitive traveller Christie* must have been exposed to a huge variety of new ideas, but it was Japanese gardens that particularly captured her imagination. So, following her return from the orient in 1908, she decided to recreate a taste of Japan in her own backyard. 

Christie’s home was at Cowden Castle just outside the small town of Dollar, lying 36 miles north west of Edinburgh and 37 miles north east of Glasgow. She decided to set aside 7 acres (3 hectares) of the castle’s grounds to create her own Japanese garden. To plan and design it she enlisted the skills of Taki Handa (1871-1956), a Japanese garden designer who was studying in England at the time. This seemingly routine appointment was in fact revolutionary, with the Japanese Garden at Cowden becoming the first and only garden of its size and scope to be designed by a woman. 

The work involved in creating the garden at Cowden included damming a stream on the castle estate to create an artificial loch [lake], importing plants, shrubs, trees and a traditional stone lantern from Japan, and building a tea house. It was clearly a job well done, as in the mid-1920s Professor Jijo Suzuki, Head of the Soami School of Imperial Garden Design at Nagoya, declared Cowden to be the best Japanese garden in the western world. 

In its heyday the Cowden Japanese Garden enjoyed a steady stream of visitors, but after Christie’s death in 1949 things began to go downhill. The garden opened to the public for the last time in 1955, and in 1963 it was badly vandalised by local teenagers when tea houses and bridges were burnt to the ground, and stone lanterns were thrown into the water.

The garden languished – largely untended and apparently unloved – for nearly half a century until, in 2008, it passed to Sara Stewart, Christie’s great, great niece. Determined to restore the garden to its former glory, Stewart created a charitable trust for this purpose and led a fundraising campaign to raise £1m (USD 1.27m) to pay for it. 

Restoration began in 2014, guided by the renowned Japanese architect and garden designer Professor Masao Fukuhara. Although the project was not completed until 2022, Cowden Japanese Garden re-opened to the public in 2017 as a “work in progress”.

We visited the garden a few months ago and were pleased to see that Ella Christie’s achievement has been successfully revived. The garden is clearly not in the same league as those of – say – Kyoto and Tokyo, but as a taster of an approach to garden design that most Brits will find unfamiliar it’s definitely worth a visit.

Ella Christie* called her garden Shāh-raku-en, meaning a place of pleasure or delight, and that name is well merited. Its restoration serves as a fitting memorial to a formidable and truly remarkable woman.

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Footnote – more about Ella Christie

IMAGE CREDIT: Anon. none given by Nat’l Library of Scotland – dated 1909, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

* Ella Christie was –

  • fluent in four languages
  • the first western woman to meet the Dalai Lama
  • the first western woman to travel from Samarkand to Khiva
  • one of the first cohort of women to be elected Fellows of The Royal Geographical Society
  • a published author, who in 1925 wrote “Through Khiva to golden Samarkand; the remarkable story of a woman’s adventurous journey alone through the deserts of Central Asia to the heart of Turkestan“

Highland Wildlife Park

Posted on by Platypus Man

For many years we had planned – but failed – to call in at the Highland Wildlife Park while driving north through Scotland on our way to visit the Orkney Islands, our favourite place in the whole world. At last, earlier this year, we finally got our act together and visited the Park for a few hours. And what a treat it turned out to be!

Red deer in the foreground, dwarfed by the landscape of the Cairngorms National Park

Highland Wildlife Park is located outside the town of Kincraig, in the Cairngorms National Park around 120 miles (193 km) north of Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital city. It was the brainchild of land-agent Neil Macpherson (1933-2017), who wanted to share the wildlife he encountered every working day in the north of Scotland with a wider audience.

The Scottish Wildcat (aka the “Highland Tiger”) is a unique sub-population of the European wildcat, on the brink of extinction after hundreds of years of persecution and habitat loss, followed by hybridisation with domestic cats. The Wildlife Park participates in a major captive breeding project.

Neil’s dream came to fruition in 1972, when the 260 acres (105 hectares) Park opened its gates to the paying public for the first time. It was a source of great pride and pleasure to him, but perhaps not as successful as he had hoped. In 1986 the ownership and operation of the Park passed to the Royal Zoological Society of Scotland, which also runs Edinburgh Zoo.

Przewalski’s Wild Horse is the only living true wild horse. It was once totally extinct in the wild, but captive breeding projects have enabled successful reintroduction programmes.

Controversially, in 2007 the Park’s theme was expanded from Scottish wildlife to focus instead on species from tundra and mountainous habitats around the world. So today, as well as animals from the local area – including Red Deer and the critically endangered Scottish Wildcat – visitors can enjoy views of a variety of more exotic fauna including Snow Leopards, Turkmenian Markhor, Przewalkski’s Horse and Vicuna.

There are estimated to be less than 2,500 Turkmenian Markhor remaining in the wild. Conservation initiatives in Pakistan are showing some signs of success.

The Royal Zoological Society of Scotland is a wildlife conservation charity whose vision is “a world where nature is protected, valued and loved.” Unsurprisingly, therefore, Highland Wildlife Park places a strong emphasis on education, as well as the captive breeding of endangered species.

Vicuna were hunted almost to extinction for their wool and meat until the 1960s, when Chile and Peru created protected national parks and stopped trade in vicuna wool. Since then, the population has steadily increased.

When we visited we were particularly pleased to get good views of the Park’s five Snow Leopards, parents Animesh and Koshi, and their cubs – born in May 2022 – Maya, Padme and Yashin. Being almost exactly 12 months old when we saw them, the cubs had lost much of their kittenish “cuteness”, having matured into impressive animals with exceptional appetites!

Several factors – including conflict with farmers, reduction in the population of prey species and the demands of traditional medicine – threaten the survival of Snow Leopard in the wild. Various conservation initiatives are being enacted to help reverse the decline.

In an ideal world the Highland Wildlife Park would be unnecessary. But our world is far from ideal, and it’s good to know that places like this exist to help protect species and spread positive messages about wildlife conservation. I’m sure we will call in again, next time we are on our way up to Orkney.

St Magnus Cathedral and Orkney’s turbulent Viking spirit

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Set in the heart of Kirkwall, St Magnus Cathedral dominates the skyline of Orkney’s biggest town. Built from distinctive red and yellow sandstone, construction began in 1137, with major additions following in the early 13th and late 14th centuries. Its foundation reflects Orkney’s turbulent Viking spirit.

At the time, Orkney was ruled, and largely inhabited, by Scandinavians. Norsemen first came to Orkney in the late 7th century, and the number of arrivals rose rapidly over the next 100 years.  Some came to farm, while others simply used the Orkney islands as a base from which to launch Viking raids on other coastal communities in Scotland and beyond.

By the early 12th century Orkney was part of the kingdom of Norway, ruled on behalf of its king by joint earls Magnus Erlendsson and his cousin Haakon Paulsson. This arrangement worked well for several years, until their followers began to quarrel. In 1118 Magnus was captured and executed by Haakon’s men.

After a few years Magnus was canonised, making him a saint of the Roman Catholic church. In 1137, Magnus’s nephew Rognvald commissioned a ‘fine minster’ to be built at Kirkwall in honour of his late uncle. Magnus’s remains were later re-interred in one of the columns of the cathedral, and lie there to this day.

St Magnus Cathedral is a striking achievement, a fine building in the Romanesque style with later Gothic embellishments, and boasting particularly fine vaulting in the nave. It is one of the oldest cathedrals in Scotland, and the most northerly in the whole of the United Kingdom. But perhaps not for much longer! Many residents of Orkney, particularly their leaders, believe their island home has been unfairly treated by both the UK and Scottish governments. They are calling for more autonomy.

One idea under consideration is that Orkney, which has a population of just 22,000, should quit the UK – and therefore Scotland – altogether, and become a self-governing territory of Norway! To be honest, even if a majority of Orcadians voted in favour I think it’s highly unlikely the British government would ever allow this to happen.

However, that such an audacious proposal has been voiced at all is an indication that feelings are running high. Orkney’s turbulent Viking spirit clearly survives to this day. But St Magnus himself was known as a pious man, a man of peace, hope and reconciliation, someone who prayed for the souls of the men about to execute him. I wonder how he would feel about these extraordinary developments?

Orkney’s tiny hidden gem – Primula Scotica

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Orkney boasts various attractions both large and small, but none smaller than the Primula Scotica. Also known as the Scottish Primrose, this tiny flower can be found nowhere else in the world other than a few places on the north east coast of Scotland, including a handful of scattered locations on the Orkney Islands.

At the centre of Primula Scotica’s vivid purple petals is a white eye, with a bright yellow “pupil” at its heart. The photo above might suggest that these colourful blossoms are easy to spot in the landscape. Wrong! The flower is a mere 8 millimetres (0.31 in) in diameter, at the top of a stem that is itself just 4 centimetres (1.57 in) tall. It is more easily trodden upon than seen.

Primula Scotica is found only amongst coastal heath and grassland, normally within a few hundred metres of the sea where strong winds trim back taller plants that might otherwise out-compete it. Although it grows in areas of short turf, it’s so tiny that it is easily overlooked.

The biggest picture in the group above shows the view at Yesnaby, a coastal location on Mainland Orkney where Scottish Primroses are known to grow. We went there earlier this year hoping to see them, but struggled at first to “tune in” to precisely what we were searching for. We must have unknowingly walked right by countless specimens until, at last, we started to spot them lurking amongst the coastal turf. The other pictures in this group show just how small these flowers are. A cluster of four flowerheads would barely cover the nail on my index finger, and the blossoms are dwarfed by a British 50 pence coin. Never has the description “perfection in miniature” been more fitting!

Marwick Head – Orkney’s seabird city

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Two of the features that have drawn us back to the Orkney islands again and again are the picturesque coastal scenery, and the magnificent birdlife. Marwick Head Nature Reserve, which comprises rugged sea cliffs 87m (285 ft) high, ticks both these boxes. And there is no better time to visit them than in spring, when the seabirds are nesting on the cliffs and the narrow fringe of coastal grassland is ablaze with flowers.

Marwick Head, with carpets of sea thrift in the foreground and the Kitchener Memorial to the rear

We returned to Marwick Head a few weeks ago, full of trepidation. Last year avian flu wreaked havoc on bird populations across the country, and we were anxious that its impact would still be apparent. As it happens, the number of birds on the cliffs remains high, although the seabird city was perhaps not quite as spectacular as we remember it. Avian flu could be responsible for the change, but perhaps climate change is also an issue?

One of the most common breeding birds at Marwick Head is the guillemot. They’re also known as murres in North America because of the murmuring sounds they make when nesting together.

Guillemots (aka murres in North America)

Guillemots belong to the auk family, and lay their eggs on bare rock ledges. Millennia of evolution has rendered these eggs pear-shaped to minimise the likelihood of them rolling off into the sea! Both male and female birds take turns incubating the eggs, and about three weeks after hatching, the chick takes the plunge into the sea. It won’t return to dry land until it’s ready to raise its own chick.

Another common bird at Marwick Head during the breeding season is the fulmar. It was not always so. Just 250 years ago this species was absent from the whole of the UK, but since then its distribution has expanded enormously. Once the season is over, however, fulmars make their way out to sea and will not return until the following spring. This is common amongst seabirds, which is why we prefer to visit Orkney some time between early May and late June.

Fulmar, also sometimes know (for obvious reasons) as the tubenose

The name “fulmar” comes from two Old Norse words – fúll meaning “foul” and már which means “gull.” This refers to a kind of stinking stomach oil, a defensive weapon that fulmars spit out to gum up the wings of predatory birds, causing them to plunge to their deaths. Perhaps it is for this reason that wild fulmars have an average life expectancy of at least 40 years. The lesson is clear: never, ever annoy a fulmar!

Razorbills are superficially similar in appearance to guillemots and breed alongside them, but – at Marwick Head, anyway – in much smaller numbers. They can be distinguished from guillemots by the thick black beak with a white stripe, which contrasts clearly with the thinner bill of the guillemot.

Razorbill, like the guillemot a member of the auk family

It was no great surprise to see a few razorbills at Marwick Head, but the close view of some gannets gliding past the headland was unexpected. Although gannets are not uncommon around Orkney we normally only spot them with binoculars, patrolling far out to sea.

The Northern Gannet may soon be breeding at Marwick Head?

This time we were treated to much better views, and one of the birds appeared to be carrying nesting material in its bill. Maybe a new breeding colony is establishing itself on Marwick Head? We’ll have to check it out when we return, as we surely will, in a couple of years time.

Man and moustache – Kitchener’s iconic recruitment poster *

If watching birds is your thing, Marwick Head is a fabulous place to visit. For students of 20th century British history it has an additional significance, as the location of the Kitchener Memorial. Field Marshall Lord Kitchener was once a national hero in England (but hated by many in Ireland, Sudan and South Africa), boasting a military career that extended far beyond his image in an iconic WW1 recruiting poster. In 1916 Kitchener – then a minister of war – was a passenger on the HMS Hampshire when she sank in mysterious circumstances off Marwick Head.

The tower visible in the central and right-hand images is the Kitchener Memorial

The Kitchener Memorial, an unremarkable stone tower on the clifftop at Marwick Head, was erected in 1926. It commemorates those who died after the Hampshire sank, including Kitchener himself. The Memorial is without doubt the most recognisable single feature on Marwick Head, but for me it is the wonderful seabirds that make this a must-visit destination whenever we are in Orkney.

* Lord Kitchener image credit: Alfred Leete, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Inspirational and serenely beautiful – Orkney’s Italian Chapel

Posted on by Platypus Man

Returning to the Orkney islands after a gap of seven years there were many places I was anxious to revisit. Right at the top of my list was the Italian Chapel, an unlikely outpost of the Roman Catholic Church located on a remote, windswept Scottish island. It is serenely beautiful, and the story of its creation is truly inspirational.

Scapa Flow, a body of water sheltered between several of Orkney’s islands, is one of the world’s great natural harbours. As such it was the UK’s foremost naval base during the First and Second World Wars.

To give added protection to naval vessels anchored there it was agreed late in 1939 that barriers should be constructed to block off the four eastern entrances to it, while simultaneously linking up several islands with a causeway. The man who made that decision was Winston Churchill, at the time the First Sea Lord and later the UK’s victorious wartime Prime Minister. The barriers now bear his name.

From a military perspective it was a thoroughly sensible decision, given that German submarines had proved themselves adept at sneaking into Scapa Flow and attacking British warships. However, constructing the barriers was more problematic, not least because of a shortage of local manpower to do the heavy lifting.

The solution, it became apparent, was to send in some Italians. The Italian army had been having a difficult time in North Africa. Many thousands of its troops had been captured, so sending a few hundred of these wretched captives to Orkney to help with the construction of the Churchill Barriers must have seemed like an opportunity too good to miss.

And so it was that around 500 Italians found themselves in Camp 60 on the tiny (40ha / 98 acres), uninhabited Orkney island of Lambholm. It was not a pleasant experience, and not just because – as prisoners of war – the men were expected to put in long days of hard physical labour with no prospect of a decent meal, a glass of wine or female company at the end of it:

“The little island could hardly have appeared more desolate: bare, foggy, exposed to the wind and heavy rain. The camp consisted of thirteen dark, empty huts, and mud.”

Domenico Chiocchetti, quoted in The Italian Chapel: Orkney’s Sanctuary of Peace

From the end of September 1943, the prisoners’ spiritual needs were overseen by a camp priest, Padre Gioachino Giacobazzi. It was he who suggested that their welfare might be better served if their British guards enabled the provision of a chapel. To their credit the British agreed to this, allowing the prisoners to take over – and bolt together – two Nissen huts for this purpose.

Wikipedia tells us that a Nissen hut “is a prefabricated steel structure originally for military use, especially as barracks, made from a half-cylindrical skin of corrugated iron”. This doesn’t sound like a promising starting point for the creation of a place of worship, but what the Italian prisoners achieved with their huts was extraordinary.

Having bolted together the two huts end-to-end, the first task was to ensure they could withstand Orkney’s challenging weather. This was achieved by applying wire ‘bolster’ nets and copious quantities of concrete along the whole length of the structure. Once they were sure the exterior of the huts was weathertight, the prisoners could move on to line the interior of the corrugated walls with plasterboard. This created a smooth surface capable of being transformed into something resembling a “normal” chapel.

The Madonna of the Olives. “Mother of Peace Pray for Us”

Fortunately for the success of the project, one of the prisoners was a talented artist with relevant training and experience. Domenico Chiocchetti was born in May 1910, the youngest of 12 children. Coming from a poor family he had no opportunity to attend art college, but instead managed to get an apprenticeship to train as a church painter. The skills he developed at this time were invaluable on Orkney, where he came up with the design of the chapel and its artwork, and supervised its internal decoration..

Chiocchetti was personally responsible for painting the exquisite sanctuary end of the chapel, including the altarpiece which he based on Nicolo Barabino’s Madonna of the Olives. When he went off to war Chiocchetti’s mother gave him a prayer card bearing a copy of Barabino’s work, and it was this image that he used as his inspiration for the painting. The Madonna is pictured holding the Christ Child, who has an olive branch in His hand. Appropriately, given the circumstances in which Chiocchetti created this piece, the Latin phrase that surrounds them reads ‘Regina Pacis Ora Pro Nobis’ – ‘Mother of Peace Pray For Us’.

Ceiling detail

Other tradesmen also played an important part in the creation of the chapel, including Giuseppe Palumbi, a blacksmith, and Domenico Buttapasta, a cement worker. The prisoners used whatever materials were to hand to further the project: the altar and altar rail, for example, were made out of concrete left over from work on the barriers, lamp holders were made out of corned beef tins and the font was fashioned from the inside of a car exhaust covered in a layer of concrete!

Chiocchetti was conscious that the ugly appearance of the exterior of the Nissen hut detracted from his creative endeavours, and gave no clue to the beauty that lay inside. Once again, concrete provided the answer, with the prisoners using it to fashion a beautiful façade, complete with bell-tower. Today, without knowledge of the chapel’s history, it would be all but impossible to guess at its humble military origins.

Internal view of the entrance end of the chapel.

Upon its completion, the chapel undoubtedly enhanced the spiritual lives of the prisoners incarcerated at Camp 60. But just as important, perhaps, its creation gave the men who built it and worshipped within it a sense of purpose and renewed hope. At what must have been the bleakest time in their young lives, the chapel offered them some reassurance that there is more to life than warfare, and that with hard work and a positive outlook nothing is impossible. Here is how one of the prisoners put it:

Nights were our worst enemy. Long nights when thoughts went back home to those we loved…Only thinking of something more nobler, more elevated, could we find inner peace and hope. So the tiny chapel came gradually into existence.”

Bruno Volpi, a POW at Camp 60, quoted in The Italian Chapel: Orkney’s Sanctuary of Peace

Orkney’s Italian Chapel is a remarkable building, all the more so for being tucked away on a remote, tiny Scottish island where, at first glance, it simply does not belong. Its serene, uncomplicated beauty and the story of how it came to be should give us all cause for hope.

Orkney – It’s good to be back

Posted on by Platypus Man

At last, after a gap of six years, we’re on our way back to Orkney for our 11th visit over a period of around 30 years. We were due to come here in 2020 but the pandemic got in the way, so it’s a relief finally to be back on the ferry for the 90 minutes long crossing from Scrabster on the Scottish mainland to the Orcadian port of Stromness. As the ferry passes the iconic Old Man of Hoy, we know we’re nearly there. It’s good to be back!

The Old Man of Hoy, a 137m (449ft) high sea stack, formed from Old Red Sandstone.

For the uninitiated, Orkney is an archipelago around 16km (10 miles) off the north east tip of mainland Scotland. There are around 70 islands, of which some 20 are inhabited. Orkney’s total population is around 22,000, meaning there are more sheep than people, and many more birds than sheep – both signs of the perfect place to spend time, in my view!

Orkney’s attractions include some magical coastal scenery and a wealth of wildlife, particularly seabirds. It also boasts numerous important archaeological sites, including stone circles, standing stones and Skara Brae, the best-preserved Neolithic settlement in Western Europe.

More recently, beginning in the late 8th century, the islands were invaded and colonised by Norse raiders. For several centuries they were ruled by Denmark and Norway, and did not come under Scottish control until 1472. The Norsemen thus left an indelible mark on Orkney, and today’s Orcadians remain intensely proud of their Viking heritage.

The Ring of Brodgar is a prehistoric stone circle dating back to the 3rd century BC.

Unsurprisingly tourism plays a big part in the local economy, alongside the more traditional pursuits of agriculture and fishing. A growing number of cruise ships visit during the season, something that is regarded as a mixed blessing by locals and “regular” tourists alike. But it’s easy to see why they come: Orkney simply has so much to offer.

For many years Mrs P and I harboured a secret dream of relocating to Orkney and building a new life here in this wonderful sea of tranquillity, which is light years away from the stresses and strains of our 21st century suburban lives. Sadly this was not to be, due to our family responsibilities back home. So, for as long as we are able (and always assuming the world is not struck by another pandemic!) we will continue to visit this great place regularly.

Meanwhile, over the next few months, I will publish several more posts about Orkney, sharing some of its many highlights and demonstrating why this is, without doubt, our favourite place in the whole world.

The Invergordon murals

Posted on by Platypus Man

It’s around 11am and we’re wandering the streets of Invergordon, a small town in the Scottish Highlands, in search of its famous murals. The place is dead: all the shops appear to be closed, there’s no traffic and no pedestrians either. We’ve not logged onto the Internet this morning, so maybe civilisation ended overnight and we’ve missed out on the news?

“Fire, Fire” by Anna Stirling, depicting a fire at the Royal Hotel in 1973.

We continue to explore the main street, our eyes scanning random walls for murals, cameras at the ready. After about a quarter of an hour we encounter a dishevelled, middle-aged guy slumped on a bench seat. He eyes us suspiciously.

“We’re here for the murals,” I say brightly by way of explanation.

“Oh, them!” he grumbles, “they’re rubbish. I can do better with a can of spray paint, even when I’m drunk!”

We must be looking doubtful, so Wasted Tam – as I like to think of him – adds, with more than a hint of bitterness, “I live around here and I’m telling you, they’re rubbish. You should go to Inverness, or…anywhere but here. This place is rubbish.”

“A Century of Sport” by Alan Potter. Interesting that one of the sports depicted is cricket, as this is a game not usually associated with the Scottish Highlands.

Although it’s not yet lunch time, a miasma of alcohol fumes hovers above Tam’s head, and I calculate that if I strike a match right now we’ll all go up in flames. We resolve to treat his assessment of Invergordon and its murals with a degree of caution. But we also note that this place is not without problems!

Invergordon is a small port town on the Cromarty Firth in north-east Scotland, infamous as the spot where – in 1931 – the UK’s entire Atlantic Fleet went on strike when the government tried to cut ratings’ pay. The Invergordon Mutiny, as it became known, ended peacefully and the town slipped back into well-deserved obscurity for 70 years, until local resident Marion Rhind proposed an idea to brighten up her neighbourhood and attract visitors by scattering some murals about the place.

“Gather Round” by Alan Potter, depicting the Invergordon Highland Gathering, which was an important annual event for the local community and visitors for over 100 years

Marion was inspired to come up with her cunning plan by her parents, who told her about a little Tasmanian town called Sheffield, where gable ends have been brightly painted to depict local characters and stories. Coincidentally, Mrs P and I have also visited Sheffield and liked the place. I wrote about it on my blog of our 2016 trip to Tasmania, but never knew it had prompted a similar initiative in Scotland.

“Pipes and Drams” by Anna Starling, a tribute to the famous Invergordon Distillery Pipe Band. In the background is the former Invergordon Castle.

Following Marion’s lightbulb moment, a working group was formed in January 2002 to help turn theory into practice. The Invergordon Off the Wall group came up with the following aims for its project: to…

  • revive the community spirit of Invergordon, by giving the community a common aim
  • enhance civic pride
  • celebrate the history of Invergordon
  • halt economic decline by re-branding the town as a destination for tourism
  • create a cultural focus for the town through a special outdoor art gallery
  • promote an ongoing interest in our own history

Lofty aims indeed, and although there are perhaps not as many murals as we anticipated they are fascinating and well executed. One shows the range of sports that are, or have been, played by local people, while another offers insights into the Invergordon Highland Gathering. A third celebrates the local lifeboat and its volunteer crew, and another reflects nostalgically on “The Way We Were.”

“The Way We Were” by Steve Des Landes depicts the Royal Marine Band marching down Invergordon High Street, as they did in the past when the Royal Navy fleet were regular visitors to Invergordon’s deep water anchorage.

One of the most striking murals depicts a fire that engulfed Invergordon’s Royal Hotel in 1973. This was reportedly a dramatic, memorable day for local people, and the magnificent mural serves to keep those memories alive. Also eye-catching is “Pipes and Drams”, a tribute to the Invergordon Distillery Pipe Band. I can’t help thinking that Wasted Tam must approve of the distillery’s product, even if he hates murals (and possibly pipe bands too!)

“Volunteer Spirit” by Ken White shows the previous Invergordon lifeboat, which served in Invergordon from 1996 until 2021.

However, my favourite of all the murals is “Our Legacy”, depicting some of the wildlife and wild places to be found in the Invergordon area. It includes this quote from Trinidadian author Aliyyah Eniath –

“Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints, kill nothing but time.”

Taken from “The Yard” by Aliyyah Eniath

The quote echoes my own feelings for the natural world, and as an added bonus the colourful mural features in one corner my favourite bird in the whole world, the oystercatcher. The mural was created with the assistance of local children, whose names are preserved for posterity beneath the images they helped to paint.

“Our Legacy” by Tracey Shough features wildlife that can be see in the Invergordon area.

Taken as a whole Invergordon’s murals are a fine example of community public art, but I worry that they’ve done little to boost tourist numbers or revive the local economy. And, if Wasted Tam is in any way typical of other townsfolk, they’ve not done much to enhance civic pride either. Invergordon Off the Wall is a well-intentioned, impressive project, and deserves to be better appreciated.

Oystercatcher detail from the “Our Legacy”.