https://cforbeauty.blogspot.com/2016/11/the-british-island-at-edge-of-world.html
To go to the shop, dentist or pub, Folau’s
residents have to travel across 20 miles
of open ocean. Photographer Jeff J Mitchell
visited the Shetland isle to see what it’s
really like.
Severe but spectacular
Closer to Norway than they are to the Scottish capital of
Edinburgh, the Shetland Islands are already remote.
But the isle of Foula (population: 30) makes other parts
of the archipelago seem practically connected. Located
20 miles west of the next landfall, it’s the most isolated,
inhabited island in all of the British Isles.
That, of course, was exactly the draw for Getty photographer
Jeff J Mitchell. “It’s very difficult to get to in certain weather
conditions,” he told BBC Travel. “You can get stuck there.
You have to take your own food in because there’s no B&B
to stay at.”
Then there was the weather: “It’s so exposed, the wind
was waking me up at night. I felt it was going to blow the
place apart.”
Mitchell’s photographs, the result of his four days
shooting the island and its inhabitants, hint at what it’s
like to live in such severe – but spectacular – conditions.
Ancient roots
Just about five square miles in size, Foula has been
inhabited for up to 5,000 years. In the 9th Century, the
Norse conquered the island – leaving behind the ancient
language, called Norn, which was still spoken here into
the 19th Century – and in the 15th Century, the Scots
took over. Today, the island is privately owned by the
Holbourn family.
While the population has fluctuated over the years,
the 30 current residents include one school-aged child
who attends school alone on Foula. “A lot of [the residents
have a connection with the island,” Mitchell said, whether
they grew up on Foula or had family there. “I think to
survive somewhere like that, you do need a connection
with the island in some ways.”
On the edge
In 1937, a film was released called The Edge of the World.
It was about St Kilda, a Scottish island even more remote
than Foula, where the last residents asked to be evacuated
to the mainland in 1930. But, to the director’s disappointment,
he wasn’t allowed to film there.
Instead, he filmed on the island that, because of its wild
scenery, isolated location and local residents, seemed the
best stand-in: Foula.
“A colleague that I know went to see it, and he said what
struck him about the film was the extras,” Mitchell said.
“They were just people from Foula wearing their own clothes.
They didn’t need to kit them out with wardrobe or anything like
that. They just looked the part.”
Solitude calling
Foula is far more connected now than it was 80 years ago.
For one, there are flights from Foula to the main island of
the Shetlands, called Mainland, four days a week – thanks
to an air strip that residents built in the 1970s. Still, with no
mobile reception and so few residents, Foula can feel far
away in more ways than geographical.
“There’s no traffic, no noise, no noise pollution. Your
phone’s not going,” Mitchell said. “I loved it.” Even the
telephone booth shown here doesn’t work – though there
is a public phone at the airport, and residents all have
their own land lines.
But it can feel different if you’re a local, when even
going to the dentist or grocery store requires a flight
or boat trip over the ocean. But that doesn’t mean
islanders aren’t connected, according to Stuart Taylor,
who has lived on Foula for more than 30 years, since
moving there with family when he was 10. “This thing
about us being cut off and all that, you don’t feel that at all.
I don’t think it’s even real,” he said. “We still have a phone,
and internet, and electricity and TV; what exactly are you
cut off from?”
Still, Taylor admitted, it’s not quite the same for visitors.
In particular, he remembers one tourist who came from
Edinburgh, saying he was in search of peace and quiet.
He lasted one day before taking the next boat back.
“He couldn’t actually handle the solitude,” Taylor said, chuckling.
Strung along
Part of the reason Taylor doesn’t feel isolated is the island’s
community. “It’s only a phone call to get people to come
round and have dinner or play music,” he said.
One night during Mitchell’s stay, Taylor organised a sing-along
at the house, playing traditional Scottish folk music.
“They were all very musical,” Mitchell said of his companions.
“They all played string-based instruments: the mandolin or guitar.”
This kind of island camaraderie can be hidden to tourists – unless,
like Mitchell, they stay for more than a day or two.
As an outsider, Mitchell said one challenge was making
locals comfortable enough with him that he could get real
glimpses into their lives. “Everyone was a bit – I wouldn’t
say stand-offish, but they do like keeping themselves to
themselves,” he said. “But if you’re there for four days,
people see you knocking about and eventually start
talking to you.”
Double lives
Events like the sing-along are the only kind of nightlife
on the island. “There are no pubs and no shops.
But there is a post office,” Mitchell said.
Keeping the island’s infrastructure going requires
everyone to pitch in; most of the island’s residents
have multiple jobs. One works at the school and
is a fireman at the airport; another manages the
post office and gives tours of the island to visitors.
And all of them own at least a handful of animals,
mostly sheep.
To market, to market
Aside from tourism – Foula’s seabird population means
it draws a few hundred bird-watchers each summer – the
main industry here is crofting, or small-scale farming,
mainly with sheep.
But unlike many other crofting communities, getting
these sheep to market involves a journey over the
North Atlantic. The twin-prop plane that flies here
from Mainland isn’t exactly conducive to moving
livestock. Instead, the animals (along with anything
else particularly bulky) have to go by boat, like
these lambs heading off to be sold for their
wool and meat.
Born to be wild
Because the island is so small, and because everyone
knows each other, many of the animals roam free.
Mitchell was taking a picture from the side of the
road when he saw these Shetland ponies. “I could
see these ponies in the distance, running down the
road – and they all started grouping together,” he said.
“That’s how you come across pictures in a story like
this. Things just start to happen.”
Like the sheep, the ponies rarely live their lives out on
Foula; instead, as a popular breed both for showing
and for riding, they tend to be sold elsewhere.
Chance meeting
Crofter Eric Ibister, 78, grew up on Foula. He’s left the
island only twice – and one of those two times was
for his own birth. Initially Mitchell was going to be
introduced to Eric by another islander. But Mitchell
wound up driving past Ibister’s house and saw him
feeding his cow, Daisy, and goat, Dixy, outside.
On a whim, Mitchell stopped to say hello and ask
if he could snap a few photographs.
To his surprise, Ibister was effusive, telling him to
come right inside – even though people had told
Mitchell not to “spring” on him. In retrospect,
Mitchell said, laughing, “we think it was mistaken
identity... His eyesight’s not the best.”
Mitchell was staying with another local who Ibister
knew well. The two were about the same height,
wore a similar flat cap and Mitchell had borrowed
his car. “But once I was in, we got to chatting,”
Mitchell said, adding that the crofter very quickly
realised Mitchell was not, in fact, the islander he
knew. “I was there for 1.5 hours.”
Into the past
“His house is like stepping back in time. It’s really
like what an old croft house would have looked like,
” Mitchell said of Ibister’s home. Along with plenty of
old books and vinyl records, the crofter also has a
cast-iron stove in the middle of the living room, both
for cooking and for warming up the house during
winter, when temperatures can drop below freezing.
Peaceful paradox
Most visitors to Foula worry that they’ll get stuck
there because of the weather. And thanks to the
frequency of storms, that’s a common occurrence.
But, perhaps surprisingly, this is one reason why
Taylor loves living on the island. “The best part of
it is when you know you’re cut off, and that there’s
not going to be any transport, and you know
everybody on the island,” he said. “It’s very rare
you’re going to come up against any types of
emergencies, any problems. It’s very relaxing.”
That’s the paradox of a place like Foula. It may
be far from the institutions most communities depend
on, like hospitals or police. But that very distance
makes for a self-sustaining community – one where
residents have the peace of mind that can only come
from confidence in being able to survive on your own.
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