Can you bring sufficient personal light to make it through a Shetland winter?
You can listen to this sonic newsletter, all the words and tunes in full, on Mixcloud by clicking the link here:
You know Shetland, the TV series? It’s been the biggest boost to tourism in these Northern Isles since…well. Ever. That and knitting. It used to be music and wildlife, especially birds, but now it’s busloads of Americans off cruise ships who want to see Jimmy Perez’s house. And, you know the cliffs at Eshaness that feature in every series. Wow, the scenery! Always shot in spring and summer, of course, because to make TV you need light.
At the moment, there’s a lack.
Mickey Finn—Night Comes Down
(Quick aside, stop press and all that: location scouting for the next series of Shetland has begun! Ashley Jensen is coming back, I hope, along with her assorted knitted bunnets.)
Who can blame those keen summer visitors, whose money we crave? Or the constant stream of folk wanting to move here permanently, sometimes without ever even having visited? There are plenty of jobs – too many vacancies in what is an overheating economy – and oh, that light! The summer’s midnight sun or ‘simmer dim’, illuminating us with a constant glow of inner happiness! What a peaceful quality of life for us and the kids, especially if we flog our Home Counties house for nigh on a million and pick up a croft for a hundred grand. We can make candles! Write novels. Do art! We can escape bad relatives, that criminal record, those people who find us no matter how many times we change our names…
Richard and Linda Thompson — Night Comes In
Except this isn’t summer. This is just past midwinter and it’s dark. Nobody’s shooting TV programmes. As I write, it’s just getting light at 9.00am and darkening severely at 2.30pm. The weather is currently mild and dull but over Christmas and New Year, for some 14 days we had unremitting gales. It was uncomfortable and sometimes dangerous to go out. Keeping warm was work. Candles? We were raiding the local shop to maintain that Swedish model of constant flicker (in case of power cuts).
Bruce Springsteen Darkness on the Edge of Town
David Bowie — Modern Love
The darkness is hard to cope with, even for born-and-bred Shetlanders. There are good-natured tales of one particular remote island where folk essentially hibernate – go to bed in December and don’t surface until March. I have to admit that at this time of year I find myself dozing off frequently, and not just during council meetings. But the lack of light (hit that vitamin D!) really can wear you down. When I first arrived in Shetland to live, almost 40 years ago, there was a fashion for ultra violet winter lamps to boost your serotonin. There was lots of talk of seasonal affective disorder (SAD), the winter blues.
I had a SAD lamp. Maybe it worked. I’m still here.
Ryan Adams — Darkness
Seasick Steve — Dark
I’ve written in the past about my delight in the cosiness, the briefly trendy notion of ‘coorie’, or what the Dutch called ‘gezillig’ – cosiness in the midst of midwinter. And it’s true that in Shetland the darkness can encourage ‘in aboot da night’ neighbourly socialising. If you can afford to heat your house. A survey last year indicated that unless you were earning at least £40,000 a year in Shetland, you were likely to be in ‘fuel poverty’.
Because nearly everything here is dearer. We may not consider ourselves remote. But we are far away from distribution hubs.
On a personal level, this winter has been a difficult one to cope with, all kinds of pressures and family issues crowding in with the loss of illumination. Books, music and eBay help. Though not selling on the Devil’s Marketplace. And that’s another aspect of Shetland life – postal and courier services can be erratic, in my experience not so much in terms of deliveries here as in things going astray or getting broken when sending them off island.
Lindisfarne — Winter Song
Bert Jansch — In the Bleak Midwinter
Then we have the question of travel. Transport. Hideously expensive at the best of times, impossible at others, as ferries stop running and aeroplanes ‘go technical’ or things get too bumpy aloft. As I’ve said in the past , sometimes on the flight to Shetland you think you’re going to die. On the ferry, you can wish you were dead. And when the sundried tomatoes supply dries up, the sooth bread vanishes…it can be hard without your Warburtons.
Family — My Friend the Sun
Anyway, I was hearing about the difficulties some newly-arrived families were having in adjusting to their first winter here, a particularly dark, windy and wet one as I’ve said. And I wondered aloud if Shetland’s sustained and expensive promotional programme aimed at encouraging folk to come to the isles to live and work was making it all look too appealing. Too easy. Too nice. Maybe what we need in Shetland are people with an adventurous spirit, the toughness of character to make it through the darkness. Maybe we should stop pretending that everything here is easy and friendly and lovely, and that we glow in an eternal communal light. A fellow councillor commented that in the rural West Highlands there was a kind of informal “two winter’ rule – only those who made it through two winters had the right stuff to stay.
Richard and Linda Thompson — Dimming of the Day/Dargai
As for me, I’m heading south this week to bairns and grandbairns, to partake of railways, cities and a different kind of seascape in Troon. By the time we get back at the end of January, we’ll be looking at Up Helly Aa, fire festival season, the ‘lightening of the year’ and the prospect of spring. I can’t wait.
Matt Deighton — Lay Down Your Weary Light
Full Playlist follows. Spotify link is at the end
Mickey Finn—Night Comes Down
Richard and Linda Thompson — Night Comes In
Bruce Springsteen Darkness on the Edge of Town
David Bowie — Modern Love
Ryan Adams — Darkness
Seasick Steve — Dark
Lindisfarne — Winter Song
Bert Jansch — In the Bleak Midwinter
Family — My Friend the Sun
Richard and Linda Thompson — Dimming of the Day/Dargai
Matt Deighton — Lay Down Your Weary Light
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