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Did you learn to play a musical instrument as a child? Have you ever wished you had kept it up? Were your piano lessons a miserable experience? I am sure there are loads of you out there who secretly wish you could get up there during that folk/jazz/blues jamming session!

I am a born again fiddle player. Here’s how it happened. As a child I learnt to play the piano. Nothing to do with pushy parents, it was my own choice at the age of 6, and I played it every single day that I was at home, until the age of 18. All emotions, joys, frustrations, angers, worries and excitements were bashed out on those keys. Tore through the grades, did duet exams too (with Rachel) and loved Beethoven to bits (especially the loud crashy ones).

Somewhere along the line my music teachers and I thought it might be a good idea to learn a second instrument, something a tad more, well, portable. Our school music department had a deal with a local instrument sellers and after trying out a few things I plumped for the violin, for reasons which are forever lost.

I offer sincere sympathy to all those family members and neighbours who have experienced a learner violinist. Consider: on a piano, you hit the notes and they make a sound which is reasonable to the ear (assuming the instrument is in tune). After 5 minutes even the most musically inadequate could pick out Twinkle Twinkle Little Star without too much trauma for the listener. But a violin beginner? Oh my. A column of tightly wound metal strings, a piece of wood strung with horse hair, and an 8-year old set of fingers….I am sure there are people out there who made a beautiful sound the moment they picked up the instrument. I was not one of them.

Several years of torture followed, during which I managed to convince some folk that I could play the violin, but I never convinced myself. In the safety of the school orchestra I could hide (in sound, at least) behind trumpets and timpani, but as a soloist I was woeful. Vibrato? My teacher gave up after 5 years. Third position? One tutor pulled no punches in describing my efforts as ‘a complete dog’s breakfast’. I spent the last two years in the orchestra lusting after the double bass player and smoking in the loos with the flautists. At the age of 18 I left home and never played the instrument again. Until now……


We came here 4 years ago. Amongst the items transported by Orkney’s leading removals firm was my violin - dusty, unloved and unplayed. It wasn’t long before the traditional music scene made its presence felt in the form of concerts, buskers, dances, the pubs at the end of May (Folk Festival time) and loads of wonderful CDs. Orkney has achieved something remarkable, I think, in making traditional music cool amongst young people. In my day the real saddos played music, but here it seems to be a positive thing. I watched in awe and envy as 15-year-olds made playing seem as natural as breathing!

Anyway. About two years ago my husband bought me a book of Orkney fiddle tunes and I decided to open the case (wooden, shaped like a coffin) and dust away over 20 years of neglect and old rosin. I squawked, scraped and squealed and the cats ran for their lives, shooting me dirty looks as they went. I practiced in secret for a year, so no-one would hear me. A local instrument maker and fixer restrung the bow, which was looking more like rats’ tails than horse hair, and after a fierce Breton drink on a friend’s boat, I played in public for the first time since I was a teenager. The space on the boat was so cramped the fiddle was practically on my knee and I couldn’t even draw back half a bow length without knocking a hole in the wall. I was not, contrary to all expectation, laughed out of court, but that may have been more due to the fierce Breton drink.

Finally, quaking, I plucked up the courage to head along to the school on a Thursday night to join local musicians aged from cool teens to even cooler 70s and 80s. I knew I had come to the right place when we had a break half way through which featured a cup of tea and a slice of clootie dumpling. With 12 accordions at my back, I know no fear, and what I lack in technique I make up for in enthusiasm. Plus there are very few traditional tunes in E flat minor, thank God. Laughably, I am now known as the fiddler who was ‘classically trained’, and I am building up my repertoire of Orkney and Shetland tunes. I still have a bit of a handicap in that I have to read the music - how else will I know where the repeats are? Oh, and my vibrato is coming on a treat.

In the hope that IB won’t mind a shameless plug for a community event, the annual concert is on Friday 14 March in the Stromness Academy. See you there!

I had a most exciting adventure recently, I went inside the Ness Battery! Can you contain your joy? Thought not. For the uninitiated and geographically confused, the Ness Battery is a WWI and WWII military installation on the outskirts of Stromness, by the golf course, overlooking Hoy Sound.



It is surrounded by a 10’ high perimeter fence topped with barbed wire, and it covers about 2-3 acres of land. There are gun batteries, ammunition stores, barracks, officers’ quarters, underground bunkers and vast quantities of corrugated iron and concrete. Best of all is the highly unusual mess hall, but more of that in a moment….

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A group of Orkney artists (loosely affiliated under the name ‘Untitled’) had this idea of joining up with some writers and see what creative processes were generated. I was paired up with a local painter, whose usual medium is oils on very large canvasses depicting sea, sky, beach debris, and my favourite, the cows in the forest (not inspired by an Orkney scene!). Over some nice soup and a cup of blackcurrant tea we chatted, enthused about Surrealist art and in a roundabout way thought we might like to do ‘something’ inspired by the 20th century legacy round Orkney’s shores.



Something stirred in the deep dark recesses of my memory…….I remember a local archaeologist telling me about the Ness Battery mess hall and some paintings on the walls done by the soldiers, vaguely reminiscent of the Italian Chapel (which was painted by POWs in the 1940s). Hmm. We did a bit of research. Turns out the Ness Battery was sold by the MOD to Orkney Islands Council in 2002 for the princely sum of £1.00. A search of the Royal Commission’s website and we had one or two tantalising photos. We got quite excited about this and decided to tap our friends in high places and see if we could get in……..and they said yes.

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So, last Tuesday, our local museum curator, writer and story-teller unpadlocked the gates and we drove up the weed-cracked concrete track, through the rusting sheds and abandoned bunkers. As well as the scary lookout tower and assorted concrete buildings there is a collection of half a dozen wooden-clad buildings, grey paint and shutters badly worn. Most can’t be opened as the locks have all rusted shut, but the mess hall door stood open and in we went. It was bright sunshine outside and it took a minute for our eyes to adjust to the gloom within, but after a moment we could see the walls clearly – and what a sight!



Round three of the four walls are painted extraordinary scenes of rural English life, a vision of Arcadia that includes children playing in a no doubt enchanted forest, a colourful gypsy encampment, a thatched cottage containing tea-room and contented cat in the window, and a village street scene with ye olde inne named the Jolly Farmer.









The signature tells us the paintings were done by AR Woods, but no more is known about this person. Were they an artist in civvy street? There is something quite impressionistic about the paintings, and they are more skilful than a first glance would suggest. Was AR Woods a man or a woman? Were these scenes intended as a backdrop for amateur dramatics? Our museum friend mused that the paintings maybe served to remind them what they were fighting for, even if the reality never really existed.



What we found intriguing was that all the pastoral scenes are filled with the most un-Orcadian vistas, forests, buildings and characters, as if the painter were trying to block out the reality outside of howling gales and the turbulence of Hoy Sound. The wisteria, the cottage roses and the apple orchards were perhaps a protection against a more immediate enemy, a sort of floral frontline.







The mess hall is not in a good way. The paint is peeling, the damp is getting in, and the few remaining shutters that still open are rusting fast. There are possibly moves to make the Ness Battery a focal point in the wider Scapa Flow project, perhaps as an interpretation centre. It would be very sad to see this fascinating place rotting away to nothing, but doing what it would take to make it safe and accessible would result in the loss of a lot of its decaying charm.



We took loads of photos and discussed what our next step would be, and we are looking into some sort of projection/performance installation thingy, featuring our photos and some writing. Unfortunately my partner in crime has had to go away for a few weeks unexpectedly, so I don’t know how much we’ll get done, but writing this blog has been a good start towards getting my thoughts on (albeit virtual) paper. I’ll let you know how we get on!





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Update on musical prowess……glad your fpu enjoyed the concert, Flying Cat. The general consensus amongst the performers was ‘not too bad’ – praise indeed from Orkney folk. We’re doing a repeat in the Cromarty Hall in the Hope this Friday. I’m not sure I can keep up this rock n roll on-the-road lifestyle.

I must admit I'm not a great taker of landscape photos - the views always seem diminished somehow. But who could resist this? I don't think I have ever seen Stenness Loch looking so beautiful!

On a sad note, our old cat Jess died on Tuesday, at home, being stroked, no vet trauma thank goodness. She was very old and she had a fine life but we will miss her. Here she is with Minxy Gracie (Jess is the tortoiseshell).