Island view offers a changed perspective

For the islands I sing. (Readers who are up on their poetry will know that this phrase is the title of a posthumously-published autobiographical memoir by Orkney writer George Mackay Brown.) This column comes to you from one of my favourite places, the island of Westray. I sometimes retreat here to get away from the pressures of the mainland and concentrate on a demanding piece of writing.

You may be confused by the reference to getting away from the mainland. Don't I live in Orkney? I do, but the largest of the 70 islands in the Orkney archipelago (accommodating Kirkwall and Stromness) is known by the bland, unimaginative name of "mainland". I much prefer its traditional Norse name, Hrossey (island of the horse). Sometimes people who live on Hrossey flee to the outer isles for peace and quiet.

It's all relative. Orcadians are often asked by tourists if they find it hard living "so far away". They will usually reply that it must be difficult living in Edinburgh or Glasgow as it is so far away from Orkney. It all depends where you are starting from. On most maps, Orkney is placed inside a box off the radar screen, thus contributing to the myth of inaccessibility. It's really quite easy to get to Scotland's isles; if you come from London it just takes a wee bit longer, and the views en route are spectacular.

Anyway, I'm in Westray for a week in order to focus on a lecture I'm due to give on George Mackay Brown at Edinburgh Uni. I first met the poet in 1986 when I was in Orkney on a family holiday. A friend had given him a copy of Grace and Dysentery, a little book I'd written about India; George, a man of great humility, took the time and trouble to write to me in Glasgow and encourage me to do more writing. This act of kindness meant a great deal to me, and during my time as minister of his beloved St Magnus Cathedral, this reticent Catholic poet became a friend, and his writing nourished my spirit. His funeral in the cathedral was quite an event. I still have questions for him, though.

Back to Westray. Its white beaches are clean, and swimming is a delight for those mad enough to risk cardiac arrest by plunging into freezing seas. On Saturday afternoon, while communing with ghosts, I sang to a seal which tracked my path along the beach. In the evening, it popped up again, obviously wanting an encore. For the island seals I sing. Today we'll see how it fancies the mouth organ.

Like so many Scottish islands, Westray is facing the prospect of depopulation. It's a pity the seals don't go to school. Quite a number of young people would like to return, after spells away.

Family ties, and the chance to bring up children in a safe and attractive environment, form a great appeal for them. But unless the work is there, they cannot do that. The Westray community's development trust is supportive of local businesses, and seeks to attract new forms of commercial life to the island. It will build a wind turbine soon.

Scotland needs its islands. On a pragmatic level, they are Scotland's "lungs", providing fresh air and peaceful living for stressed urban dwellers. With wind and tide power to spare, they have a key role to play in Scotland's search for renewable energy. Not only that, the islands are an important part of how Scotland understands itself.

Whatever the question is, drawing islanders down to an overcrowded central belt is not the answer. (Nor is selling off parts of the Royal Mail to predators.) For the islands I sing. George Mackay Brown used that phrase in the opening part of his first published collection of poetry in 1954. The poem goes on:

For Scotland I sing,
the Knox-ruined nation,
that poet and saint
must rebuild with their passion.

Knox-ruined nation? Hmm. Are you sure about that, George? Must think about it. Stop dreaming on the Westray beach. Quit yodelling to the seals. Get back to the laptop. There is work to be done.