Nearly sixty years ago, two people decided to go away on holiday. Both were in their thirties, both single, and both had decided that they were never going to meet “The One” so might as well resign themselves to the single life. They travelled to Shetland, the archipelago flung out into the sea, nearer Norway than Scotland. In the guest house, the woman noticed a good-looking man glancing across at her. Whichever trip she booked up, he would be at her elbow, chatting. By the end of the week, they were going out and two years later they got married. They were my parents (pictured above in 2008). Without Shetland, I wouldn’t be here, so it seemed appropriate to have a family holiday there this summer.
Lovely Lerwick
Jimmy Perez's house from Shetland ( the one with the boat outside) and more shots around Shetland's capital. I read all 8 books in the Shetland series by Ann Cleeves bought from the bookshop.
Shetland’s capital used to have a fairly rackety reputation. Drunkenness and violence were commonplace, as sailors rolled up to the quay and went in search of wine, women and song in the narrow alleyways. These days, it’s familiar to many as the location for “Shetland” home of brooding detective Jimmy Perez. We found his house, sitting in the water looking out over a replica Viking longship, and wandered around Market Closs, Commercial Street and the tiny alleys running down to the port. The Shetland Times Bookshop drew me in like a magnet and I bought all eight in the Shetland series by Ann Cleeves. You could call it research
On the Beach
On the run up to the holiday, we consulted the BBC weather each night and found that Shetland is often covered in cloud. We were very fortunate to have only one day of truly terrible weather and on our first day, we headed off to Meal Beach on the tiny island of West Burra. A perfect crescent of white sand met a calm sea with the emerald-green land rising steeply away behind. We skimmed stones, paddled and tried making a sandcastle (an epic failure. Wrong kind of sand).
St Ninian’s Isle
The children laughed when I insisted on bringing sun cream, but our trip to the beautiful St Ninian’s Isle was taken on the hottest day for quite some time. It’s startlingly beautiful, almost Caribbean, with a perfect white sandy beach lapped by two crystal bays and the vibrant green cliffs of the Isle itself rising towards the sky. This is the UK’s largest tombolo, a spit of land connecting the mainland with an island. We had a stone skimming tournament, found crystals and wandered up to the Isle with the sound of seabirds calling and sheep baaing. And we got a little bit sunburnt. Told you so.
Ferry Good
We avoid planes wherever we can, preferring ferries. Shetland was a dream in this regard. We hopped on the little ferry from Toft to Yell, then from Yell to Unst, the most northerly point of the UK. Muckle Roe and North Roe are connected to the mainland by bridges, so that was a bit of a cheat, but it still added to our island count. Everyone waved and smiled as we drove past. A bit like being royal. Except we aren’t, obviously. The last day was wet so we went on the Bressay ferry to look at cloud-shrouded hills. Next time, we’ll try Fetlar, Papa Stour, Out Skerries, Fair Isle and Foula.
Up North
“Have I mentioned that this is the UK’s most northerly beach?” my husband remarked as we ate our picnic on the beach in Unst. Groans from the children. Yes he had. Along with the UK’s most northerly ferry, cliff, house and bench. Skuas and gulls swooped and shrieked overhead, protecting their chicks nesting on the outcrop of rock. Later we went to yet another beach where we watched two grey seals bobbing around in the water, eyeing up a family of ducks, taking their young on a speculative sea trip. My husband strode to the end of the cliff, taking in the view from yet another most northerly point.
Scones and Ships
In spite of a hearty lunch on Britain’s most northerly beach, hunger pangs attacked the Leigh family as they drove around Unst, marvelling at the beautiful light and rocky peat-covered hills. Imagine our joy, then, as Britain’s most northerly tearoom hove into view, looking out over a perfect bay. Next door, a harp maker plied his trade. You couldn’t make it up. A replica Viking longhouse and boat sat on the beach, perfect for a post-cake stroll.
Capital, Capital
Memory’s a funny thing. I can’t remember my parents telling me I was going to have a baby sister or brother, but a trip to Edinburgh when I was five is still fresh in my mind. We visited my great-aunt Jane; I was allowed to run up and down the stairs to her flat and play with the door mechanism (an early form of entry phone) and we went to the park and gazed at the fountain. On our way home, we revisited, enjoying ice-creams as we looked up at the castle on the crag, travelling by bus and enjoying a lovely Italian dinner in Rose Street. More memories and the fountain hasn’t changed a bit.
All Aboard
When in Edinburgh, why not visit the Royal Yacht Britannia? Painted in a bespoke shade of blue chosen by the Queen and with teak decks and beautiful views, it was a wonderful way to spend a couple of hours. We gazed in at the Queen’s bedroom, viewed the laundry room, galleys, officers’ accommodation and the piano where Princess Margaret entertained the family with show tunes. We even pretended to walk up the Royal Gangway to the yacht, red carpet and all. A right royal treat.
Welcome to New Asgard
I grew up hearing stories of Coldingham with its sands and narrow streets. My great-uncle Robbie and his aunts ran the bakery in this small Berwickshire village and my grandmother and mother both had wonderful memories. We stopped in to wander around and try to uncover some family history. My family name, Cormack, was everywhere. The sands were perfect. The next cove round, St Abbs, was the location for New Asgard in Avengers: Endgame. They had Thor’s hammer and everything. The children were more impressed by this than by sitting on Britain’s most northerly beach, strangely.
Toilet in a Turret
And finally, we drove south to York, a place we haven’t been for thirty years. It appears to be the hen party capital of England as we counted fifteen groups of ladies in matching livery prancing around its streets. The boys went to the Railway Museum while the girls mooched around. In desperate need of a loo, we had lunch in a tiny tearoom on the river with the most vertiginous steps to a WC I’ve ever seen. Sunshine bathed beautiful York Minster’s soaring architecture and we had ice cream under the trees in its shadow. History was all around. And hens. Lots and lots of hens.
Yo!
Back in the day, pre-children, my husband and I loved nothing more than a trip to Yo! Sushi. With its robotic drinks trolley and enticing conveyer belt of sushi, it was a foodie’s dream. Even in these difficult times, it’s still possible to enjoy the experience. Sitting at our table watching the conveyor belt go round, we ordered via the app and waited for our light to flash green. It was the most fun! However, just as in the old days, it was shockingly easy to order just a little more. Edamame beans anyone?
Over the past eighteen months, like everyone else, my travel has been severely limited. Trips to the shop in Melton to stock up on bananas and strawberries, occasional forays into Aldis (oh, the glamour of it all!) and hammering across country to Stowmarket to deliver my son to drumming practice have been about the sum of it. The very act of travelling, of overhearing enticing snatches of conversation, of seeing entirely new landscapes fed my writer's soul and jolted me into a new phase of creativity. Shetland, I loved you and I'll be back.