Inside Orkney’s Viking past and shared history with Norway
Orkney, at the cross-currents of Nordic and British life, is reflecting on whether its future belongs in the UK. Mike MacEacheran delves into the history of a place where the extraordinary has long been the norm
“Look,” gestures Shapinsay native and sea kayaking guide Kristian Cooper as the North Sea wind ruffles his Viking-length beard and braided ponytail. “This is Orkney.”
He guides his vessel through shallow water onto a seaweed-strewn beach and jumps into action. Paddle hurled on the sand and life vest hastily unfastened, Kristian drags the kayak beyond the tideline, scaring guillemots into flight. Slowly, he picks his way to a tussocky verge, which rises to a headland overlooking Eynhallow Sound and a spectacular panorama of prehistory: a jumble of drystone walls, stone-floored galleries and a tower from the Iron Age. “There are thousands of spots like this in Orkney,” he says. “A different adventure every day.”
With its 5,000-plus years of history taking in the Mesolithic, Neolithic, Iron and Bronze Ages, Pictish, Pre-Christian and Viking periods, Orkney is almost a different country to the rest of Scotland. Several thousands of years ago, Mesolithic hunter-gatherers walked the long shorelines of Mainland, Orkney’s most populous island. Later, Neolithic farmers chose the same land to erect Celtic monoliths and standing stones, ushering in an era of mystery that has never truly been unravelled. Now, a kayak guide like Kristian can chance on Iron Age brochs and the ruins of Norse settlements, all from beach landings in his light-frame canoe. The sheer density of history in these small-scale islands is mind-boggling.
Today, the history most talked about on these islands – closer to Oslo than London – is that of the Vikings. As of last week, the islands’ council is keen to explore Orkney’s longstanding “Nordic connections” after civic leaders voted in favour of considering alternative forms of governance. On the table is a proposal to become a self-governing territory like the Channel or Faroe Islands, and, at the heart of the argument, is the need for the island community to feel empowered. Would it make sense for them to leave, or are they fundamentally Scottish and British?
Read more on UK travel:
I first travelled to Orkney a decade ago and, in the period since, I’ve been back as often as possible. The world might end here for some travellers, but it also begins here, at least in terms of ancient British history. Even the briefest search for “Orkney” on Canmore, Scotland’s national record of the historic environment, brings up an impressive list of 5,778 recorded sites. Look for “Orkney Neolithic” and it brings up 287 places of interest; 395 for “Orkney Iron Age”; 216 for “Orkney Bronze Age”; and 101 for “Orkney Viking”.
Between the detail-perfect tombs and ceremonial stone circles punctuating the farmlands, it’s fair to say expectations need to be reset when visiting this far north. And this sense of cultural history is tangible: which might go some way towards explaining why Orcadians have developed their own self-awareness of spirit and independence – and feel they are owed more than their current lot.
There’s a saying on the islands: that if you scratch the surface, Orkney bleeds archaeology
“My mum’s from Orkney and I had three Orcadian grandparents, so that sense of belonging is strong,” says David C Flanagan, a children’s author based on Mainland, the archipelago’s most populous island. “Being able to touch the stone walls of places your ancestors once lived is pretty powerful, but with so much tangible ancient history around us, that feeling of continuity and community stretches back thousands of years.”
For many, Skara Brae, Western Europe’s best-preserved groups of Neolithic houses, is the archipelago’s touchstone. At times hazy, when seen through the haar, the site of nine clustered houses was only discovered after tempestuous winter storms ripped through the grass-topped dunes of Skaill Bay – first in 1850, then again in 1924. (There’s a saying on the islands: that if you scratch the surface, Orkney bleeds archaeology.)
Remarkably, what was left exposed was a series of stone, Hobbit-like dwellings with bedsteads, cupboards, hearths and doors. That this archetypal early farming settlement was built around 3180 BC, before the Great Pyramid of Cheops in Egypt and Britain’s other great prehistoric monument, Stonehenge, is as astonishing as the sense of belonging people feel here. At both Skara Brae and Orkney’s other Unesco-class sites, such as the Ring of Brodgar and Stones of Stenness, visitors come for more than a pile of old rocks. They turn up for a slice of British history at its most ancient.
Arguably, the apogee of the Norse connection today is St Magnus Cathedral, a sanctuary in Kirkwall and Britain’s best example of Norse architecture. The Norsemen arrived in the 9th century and, for around 600 years up to the mid-15th century, Orkney became a Norse earldom, with the cathedral founded in 1137 by Earl Rognvald, once a Viking, then a Christian saint. Known as the “Light in the North”, the cathedral has always been a beacon of Norse-Orcadian cultural ties – and one that continues to democratise Norse history throughout the land.
Orcadians have developed their own self-awareness of spirit and independence – and feel they are owed more than their current lot
A first-time visitor to Orkney also doesn’t have to travel too far to find other places that splice Norse and British history. Towards the island of South Ronaldsay, the road crosses the historic Churchill Barriers. Built in the 1940s, largely by Italian prisoners of war, the maritime blockade was introduced to protect Royal Navy moorings after a German U-boat entered the harbour through Holm Sound and sunk a battleship. Holm comes from the Old Norse holmr, meaning islet.
To the west from here lies Scapa Flow, home to dozens of warships from the German High Seas Fleet, which was scuttled at the end of the First World War after the Allies’ victory in 1919. Skalpaflói, meaning “bay of the long isthmus” in Old Norse, is another spot where the land of the Vikings and 20th-century Britain share the cross-currents of the seas.
Back in Kirkwall, two distilleries show different sides of the same coin: Highland Park is a devoutly Scottish whisky warehouse that’s been crafting single malt for more than 220 years. Nearby, with more than a hat tip to the island’s Norse roots, is Kirkjuvagr Orkney Gin, made with botanicals first brought to the island by the Vikings. There is all this and so much more: entirely unexpected Norse, Celtic, Scottish and British stories pop-up with little fanfare.
Perhaps to Orcadians there is added value in being at the edge of Britain, which is why there is a galvanised yearning for autonomy (although Shetland, with arguably stronger Norse roots, will likely have something to say about that). Many on Orkney also feel connected to the land and sea in a way many across Britain do not, and it’s a feeling that burns deep.
“It’s the remarkable landscape, the ever-changing light, the constantly moving ocean and the fact I can be on a beach in less than five minutes,” Flanagan tells me. “You’re instantly connected to the land, the sea and the elements in Orkney, as much as you are to the people. And we’re not remote, isolated, or tiny either.”
Everyone will have an opinion, of course, on whether Orkney’s future remains within or without the United Kingdom – or in a newfound role with a varying degree of self-determination. The ancient and spiritual currents of the archipelago’s Norse, Scottish and British heritage will continue to be a part of that conversation.
For now, one thing is certain: the frontier spirit of the Orcadians remains as strong as the tides where the North Sea and Atlantic Ocean meet.
Read more on the best Scotland hotels
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments