This week the blog does something a little different – one maker, in depth. Tiree Tea is a small island tea company in the Isle of Tiree, blending teas named after the things around them – the croft, the machair, the ferry, and one famous lamb. If you have ever wanted your cuppa to come with a sense of place, this is the shop for you.
The names do a lot of the storytelling. Crofter takes its name from the little grey Fergie tractor that has lived on the Tiree Tea croft since she was born in 1947, and she is still working. Tilley nods to the Tilley lamps that once powered island homes, and to Tilley the Turbine, which powers community projects today. Ferry Berry is a spiced blend built to warm you up like an early morning announcement that the cafeteria is open. Their listings promise hints of “baler-twine and marauding livestock”, which tells you the humour comes included.
The practical side is equally well thought through. The teabags are plastic-free and 100% biodegradable, the packaging is home-compostable, and even the mailing bags are biodegradable and reusable. Orders go out within three business days, weather permitting – honest small print from an island where the weather gets a vote. There is a gift wrap option at the checkout, and they will pop in a wee gift note if you leave a message when you order.
Three picks from the range below, from £4.50 to £19.
The flagship blend, named for that 1947 grey Fergie. Crofter is a traditional breakfast tea built from Indian Assam, Kenyan and Sri Lankan black teas – equally suited to breakfast, a flask on the go or, in true Tiree style, a couple of biscuits after an already large meal. Their words, and we believe them. The tin stands 178mm tall with an embossed Tiree Tea lid and comes stuffed with 50 biodegradable teabags. Leaving the pot to stew on the stove for a couple of hours is traditional, and entirely optional.
Machair is the fertile, flowery ground that stretches down to the shore in the islands, carpeted in sweet wildflowers through the summer. In Tiree it supports the Great Yellow Bumblebee, one of the rarest bumblebees in Britain. The infusion takes after it – sweet and fragrant with subtle citrus notes, blended from green rooibos, lemon verbena, nettle, lemon thyme and a scatter of mallow flowers, cornflowers and sunflower petals. Twenty teabags, three minutes in the pot, and hints of “pretty petals and mis-pronunciation”. It is MAH-kher, roughly, and the tea is forgiving either way.
Wonky the lamb was born with a crick in her neck and a zest for life that refused to give in. After conquering social media one wobble at a time, she now grazes happily on the Tiree Tea croft – and she has her own tea. This is a limited edition print run of the Tilley mint and nettle infusion, 70% peppermint and spearmint to 30% nettle, an energising and zingy blend with hints of “unwinding and unwonking”. The right gift for anyone who has had a slightly wonky sort of week.
The range runs well beyond these three. There are breakfast teas named in Gaelic for Lewis, Harris, the Uists and Barra, an Earl Grey called Gneiss, a decaf called Decroft, plus mugs, tea towels and coasters to match. If you cannot pick, the Tiree Tea Taster Box at £16 lets you mix and match four blends, and it fits through a letterbox.
Everything is blended, packed and posted from the croft, so when you buy a tin your money lands directly in an island business. Browse the full range at Tiree Tea, see what else comes from the island in the Isle of Tiree collection, or have a look at last week’s gifts from the Isle of Lewis if you are after a wider browse.
Lewis is the bigger half of the long island it shares with Harris, sitting at the northern end of the Outer Hebrides and reached by the ferry into Stornoway. It is the home of the Callanish Stones, the Lewis Chessmen, the Butt of Lewis lighthouse, a working Gaelic culture and a decent number of people quietly making lovely things in their kitchens, sheds and workshops.
Gifts from the Isle of Lewis tend to carry one of those threads with them – a bit of the standing stones, a bit of Harris Tweed, a bit of sea glass off a windy beach. Seven picks below, all made in Lewis, all in stock as we write this, and all sent out by the maker themselves. Prices run from £10 to £50.
A small note – island post takes a little longer than the mainland, so order with a bit of head room if you have a date in mind.
A pack of five square notelets featuring Brue Art’s own take on the Lewis Chessmen, set against a marbled paper background made using Suminagashi – ink floated on water – to mimic the rock formations you find around the island. The chess figures are designed in CAD and printed over the top, with the back of each piece printed on the reverse. Inside is mostly blank, with brown recycled kraft envelopes. A neat way to send a bit of Lewis to someone in five separate doses.
A 20cl boxed white glass candle, hand-poured in small batches in 100% soy wax at the Sandwick Bay workshop in the Isle of Lewis. The whole point of these is calm – a settled room, a settled evening – and the boxed presentation means it doubles up as a gift you can put in the post without further fuss. The right thing for a new home, a thank you, or anyone who likes a tidy hour with a candle on.
A counted cross stitch kit for the Callanish Stones, the Neolithic stone circle on the west side of the island – thirteen stones around a central monolith, with an 83m avenue running off to the north, built about 5,000 years ago. The kit holds 14-count sky blue aida, an organiser of Anchor stranded cottons, a needle, the design across two sheets and a thread layout chart. Finished size is about 28cm by 11cm. For the gift recipient who would rather make something than be handed it.
A round laser-engraved chopping board, 250mm across, with the Western Isles mapped out and labelled in Gaelic – Leòdhas, Na Hearadh, Uibhist, the lot – finished in mineral oil. Heb Laze do a whole family of these in Lewis, and this one is the pick for someone who wants the islands as a set rather than picking favourites. Sits well as a serving board too if you would rather not cut on it.
An A4 print of the northern lights behind the Butt of Lewis lighthouse, taken by Paul Chamberlain in the Isle of Lewis. The aurora turns up more often this far north than people from the south expect – and the lighthouse, painted in red brick and standing at the very top of the island, gives the green light something solid to argue with. Printed on Fotospeed Platinum 100% cotton fine art paper with Epson pigment inks. A framable thing for someone who has been to Lewis, or someone who would like to.
An elasticated bracelet set with sea glass collected from beaches around the Outer Hebrides, finished with sterling silver and slipped over the hand with no clasp to fiddle with. Each piece of glass has been tumbled by the sea for who knows how long before turning up in the right cove on the right day, so no two bracelets read quite the same. Arrives in a Salka gift box and sleeve, ready to hand over.
A small blue Harris Tweed elephant, mounted on a felt-covered wooden plaque with a hanging fitting on the back, made by Tide and Thistle at home in the Isle of Lewis. Genuine Harris Tweed throughout, with the certified label sewn in behind the elephant’s left ear – the cloth itself is woven within the same island group, so this is about as local as a wall hanging gets. Not a toy, as the listing politely points out – it is a quiet, quirky thing for a wall.
Every piece here is made by someone living and working in the Isle of Lewis, and every order is packed and posted by the maker themselves. Buy any of these and the money lands in an island workshop, which is a nice thing to wrap up alongside the gift.
Father’s Day rolls around on 21 June, which leaves about three weeks to find something better than another pair of socks. Father’s Day gifts from the Scottish islands have an advantage here – everything is made by someone you can name, in a place you can point to on a map, and the maker themselves sends it out the door.
Seven picks below, drawn from across the islands – Skye, Islay, Jura, Bute, Lismore and the Uists – that suit the kind of dad who likes a decent dram, a useful tool or a long quiet read. Prices run from £6.50 to £55, so there is room here for a small thank-you or a bigger keepsake.
A small note – island post takes a little longer than the mainland. Worth ordering by the start of June if you would like it to land in good time.
A round coaster in genuine leather, embossed with a whisky bottle marked "Islay Malt", a glass and a small map of the island – a tidy nod to what Islay is best known for. Handmade in the Isle of Islay and your choice of black or brown, it is the sort of small thing that wears in nicely over the years. A good entry pick at well under a tenner, or a useful addition if you are putting together a larger package around a bottle.
The fourth in a travelogue series that walks you through 20 more Scottish islands by foot and bicycle, written for visitors who want to slow down and see the smaller ones properly. The whole project is run by islanders from Unst to Arran, and the book leans into the islands where you cannot bring a car – which tends to be where the unrivalled sense of peace lives. A good nudge for a dad who has been threatening to do "that trip" for the last few years.
Three small bottles of whisky-infused sauce, handmade in small batches in the Isle of Lismore. The set runs to a whisky-and-chocolate sauce (for ice cream, pancakes and the like), Cranachan in a bottle (whisky, real raspberries and organic vanilla), and a whisky-lemon-chilli that turns up well on grilled chicken, burgers or a cheese board. Vegan, gluten-free and packaged in three pourable 185ml glass bottles, with room to add a written note at checkout.
This one has a story. Tommy’s Gin is named for Tommy Wilson, the late father of one of the distillery’s directors and a British Army veteran of the Suez Crisis. A proceed from every bottle goes to British military charities, and one of the founders still serves in the 4th Battalion, Parachute Regiment. The gin itself was one of the first in the UK distilled with poppy seeds, alongside juniper, coriander, liquorice root, blaeberry and sweet orange. 45% ABV, with a balanced citrus finish – served best, the distillers say, with a Scottish tonic, a wedge of lemon and a few blaeberries.
Handcrafted and bottled in the Isle of Jura by a small-batch outfit who release a few hundred bottles at a time. The rum starts as Scottish-distilled white rum, gets aged in ex-bourbon casks for a while, and is then spiced with their own blend of spices and botanicals. UK delivery only. The pick for a dad who has had his gin years and is ready to move along the shelf.
A set of four stainless steel cheese knives, with handles turned by hand in oiled Scottish beech (the most popular) or ash, made in a workshop in the Isle of Bute. The grip is shaped to sit properly in the hand, and the set can be personalised with a name at the order stage. The sort of present that quietly gets used at every dinner from now on, and a particular winner for the dad with strong opinions about cheese.
For the proper whisky dad. This is not a bottle – it is an online course run by the Islay Whisky Academy that walks you through nosing, tasting and identifying flavours and aromas, with a strong leaning into the Gaelic-Celtic heritage of uisge beatha itself. Built for someone who wants to get more out of every dram. A different shape of gift, and a good one for the man who already has the whisky.
Every piece here is made by someone living and working in one of these islands, and every order is sent out by the maker themselves. Buy any of these and the money goes straight into an island workshop, which is a nice thing to wrap up alongside the gift.
The Isle of Harris is a small place that a great many people have heard of. Usually it is the tweed they know, or the beaches – Luskentyre and Seilebost turn up on “best beaches in the world” lists with almost boring regularity. Harris sits at the southern end of the long island it shares with Lewis, out in the Outer Hebrides, reached by the ferry into Tarbert or the winding road down from the north.
What gets less attention is the people making things there. Harris makers tend to work with whatever is closest to hand – the stone underfoot, the light coming off the water, the famous cloth being woven down the road. It gives the work a strong sense of place, and it means a gift from Harris carries a bit of the island with it.
Here are six pieces, all made in Harris, all in stock as we write this. They run from £7.50 to £55, so there is something here whether you are buying a small thank you or a proper keepsake.
Harris Tweed turns up twice in this one. The lid is painted in copper and set with a mosaic of tweed offcuts, and the inside is lined with tweed as well. It is a sensible size for rings, cufflinks, or the small treasures that need a home of their own. A tidy way to give someone a bit of the island’s most famous cloth without buying a whole jacket.
A vintage-style double coat hook with a tiny felted panel set into it – a little Hebridean beach or landscape, and each one comes out different from the last. At £7.50 it is the sort of small, thoughtful thing that suits a housewarming, a thank you, or the very organised friend who has firm views on where coats should live. Three for £21 if you are buying for a few people, and sets of three arrive boxed.
An illustrated tern on a melamine placemat, cork-backed and 23cm square, drawn by Harris illustrator Joceline Hildrey. Terns are some of the great travellers of the bird world, which feels about right for a table that has people coming and going around it. There is a matching coaster if you would like the set. An everyday thing, nicer for being made by someone who knows the birds.
This is a favourite, partly because the maker’s own description more or less gives directions to her house. The Cluer Post Box is a fused glass suncatcher modelled on the real post box at the top of the road down to the studio, and the note says that if you find the actual one, you should pop in and say hello. Island post boxes tend to sit in a sheltered spot facing away from the weather, which tells you most of what you need to know about Hebridean weather. The glass is hand-cut, assembled and fired in a home kiln.
A pendant hand-carved from Lewisian gneiss, the stone that makes up much of Harris and Lewis. It is some of the oldest rock in Britain – geologists put parts of it close to three billion years old. Each pendant is carved by hand and comes on an adjustable cord, and because no two pieces of stone are alike, every one is a genuine one-off. Wearing a piece of three-billion-year-old Harris around your neck is a decent conversation starter.
The special one to finish on. The Blue Coral Bowl is built from strips of blue glass arranged in a coral pattern, fused in the kiln and then slumped over a mould to get its curve. In sunlight it casts a coloured shadow across whatever it is sitting on, which is the kind of small daily pleasure that makes a £55 bowl earn its place on the shelf. Each one is made individually, so yours will be its own thing.
Every piece here was made by someone living and working in Harris, and every order is sent out by the maker themselves. Buy any of these and you are putting money straight into an island workshop, which is a good feeling to wrap up alongside the gift.
There’s an eerie calm before the brewing storm the morning I set off down the narrow coastal Oban to Gallanach road to catch the Kerrera ferry. Winter sun scatters across a glassy sea and beams shafts of light onto the surprisingly hilly island that so effectively shelters Oban Bay. The Sound of Kerrera being such a short stretch of water, it doesn’t occur to me that the ferry might have difficulties today, but the Calmac crew greet me with the news that they are unwilling to carry tourists, in case they can’t get back to the mainland later. I plead my non-tourist status – I’m here to interview someone – and agree to accept the risk.
My only fellow ferry traveller, a Kerrera resident, assures me that the private ferry service from Kerrera Marina to Oban will get me back over. On landing, I decline a quad-bike lift: I’m intrigued by Kerrera’s brand new road and keen to walk it. Half an hour later Rowan greets me outside a lovely rambling old white house and we head in for coffee.
As with so many creative makers that I am meeting on my Island Makers series, Rowan has worked and travelled the world before coming home to found Sea Teas. We discuss how the experiences drawn from such zig zag journeys through life can seem disparate, yet often infuse well together like a good tea blend.
Rowan’s travels have taken her through a Conservation Biology degree at Aberdeen, a Journalism Post-graduate course in Glasgow, an illustration course and, most recently, a Horticulture course at Oban Argyll College. It was during this last that Rowan undertook research into Scottish native plants historically used for in tisanes (herbal teas) and saw the potential to start producing her own teas in Kerrera.
I can easily see how such a treasure trove of knowledge and experience, combined with the beautiful natural flora that surrounds her Kerrera family farm, has informed and enriched the creativity of Sea Teas.
Back at the farm Rowan foraged for locally common herbs like nettle, meadowsweet, mint and dog-rose, bought a stock of plants to grow in her polytunnel and invested in a dehydrator to dry the flowers and seeds. Sea Tea launched in 2019.
On the marketing side of things, partner Robert – a graphic designer by training who now works at Kerrera Marina – designed the Sea Tea labels, and isle20 provided an ideal platform upon which to spread the news to potential customers, especially during lockdown when local outlets were closed and island visitors absent.
After coffee we climb to the top of the house to the Sea Tea HQ, where Rowan’s sister Miriam helps to fill and label tea tins. Inspired by the sight and aroma of all those wonderful herby ingredients, I’m keen to try some, and we drink a cup of Sea Chai by the living room fire. I’m quietly prepared for the blend of star anise, dulce, cardamon, juniper, spearmint, cinnamon, cloves and nettle to not be to my taste, but it’s so deliciously uplifting and warming that I ask for a tin.
Two of the tea blends that especially intrigue me include coco shell. Rowan explains that the shells of cacao beans, discarded during the chocolate making process, can be infused to add a subtly chocolate flavour to tea. Her Cocomint blend of coco shell, mint, kelp, nettle, cinnamon and vanilla smells so yummy that I feel the need of a tin of that too. Suitably stocked up, I walk on up to Kerrera Marina for the promised boat-ride back to Oban. As forecast, the wind is up, the sea choppy. A lively chat with my ferry companions, Robert and Miriam, keeps my mind off the swell. My day out to Kerrera is completed with a very wet walk to Gallanach to retrieve my van and brew up a rejuvenating pot of Sea Chai.
We’ve got a lot of moongazing hares, and other hare-related items for sale on isle20! It is alleged that the Celts considered hares to be magical, mystical creatures. They were never eaten. Rather, they were accorded great respect.
They were symbols of growth, new-beginnings and prosperity.
In Europe the hare became synonymous with moon-related deities. And so, the moongazing hare concept was born.
The hare was also sacred to the goddess Eostre and apparently is what eventually became known as the Easter bunny.
So, is a hare a good omen? Well, it depends. If you were not in a good frame of mind, seeing a hare could be a bad omen – invoking the otherworld, or a harbinger of death.
All of our hares seem fairly benign, and come in a range of forms, shapes and sizes. We’ve added them below.
If the moongazing hares didn’t quite fit the bill and you are still looking for inspiration, why not head on over to the shop to keep hunting through our treasure trove of handmade island gifts.
And here’s a fun fact – in Tiree, there are no rabbits. Only hares.
Sometimes you just need a bit of luxury! And other times you need a luxury gift. Well, whether you need luxury gifts for her, for him, or for you, we’re confident that we have something to fit the bill.
Our independent makers from across the Scottish islands produce an incredible range of luxury items. We’ve put together a curated collection – just for you!
Luxury for anyone
We’re far from sexist here at Scottish Island Gifts – everyone deserves some luxury. We’ve picked the very best we could find!
The Scottish Island Gifts shop is stuffed full of stunning gift ideas and products made with love in the Scottish islands – so if you haven’t found the perfect luxury gift for her, for him OR for you yet… You will!
We’re all looking to cuts cost this year. So what if we told you that you can cut costs, and still support independent makers with our guide to gifts under £20?
Yup, we thought you’d like that!
Our amazing island makers have a whole host of gifts made with love, ready for you to find. To make it even easier, we’ve curated a selection of them just for you.
We love the variety that our independent island makers produce. It’s absolutely inspiring. Still looking? Check out the shop, where thousands of gift ideas await.
And last but not least, here is a handpicked eclectic mix of gift ideas for under a tenner – and we’re pretty sure there is something for everyone here. They range from gorgeous gin tumblers, to a cute knitted sprout, to useful garden string, jewellery, notepads and even seeds!
isle20 is made up of incredible small businesses from across the Scottish islands. That means that our product range is more sustainable than most!
As islanders we know how important it is to keep plastic to a minimum, and to recycle as much as possible.
We have a wide selection of eco-friendly gifts just waiting for you to find. To make that task even easier, we have put together a selection of our favourites.
When it comes to gifts under £30, we’ve been busy finding the best options for you. Yup, 30 gifts ideas under £30!
So, you’re looking for a gift, or a treat yo’self, there has got to be something here to suit any taste. Our products are made with love by small businesses from across the Scottish Islands.
To make finding themt even easier, we’ve curated a selection of them just for you. Enjoy. 😎
We love the variety that our independent island makers produce. It’s absolutely inspiring. Still looking? Check out the shop, where thousands of gift ideas await.
Thank you to everyone who took part in our Island Life calendar competition! We’ve been blown away by all the brilliant entries!
The judges had some hard choices to make, and in the end we decided that two images should appear for each month – a main image, and a smaller inset one.
Without further ado, here are the winners! Prizes will be in the post shortly. And because time is short and we are very aware of supply chains… We are opening the pre-order now!
We plan to have the calendars in the post to you by the end of November.
The winning island life images
Sunset in Shetland (Anne Barron)Up Helly Aa, Shetland Mainland (Emma Coote)MV Clansman leaving Tiree (Kenneth Sutherland)Bottoms up! Isle of Raasay (Joseph Beeching)Pit stop, Isle of Harris (Jocelyn Mather)Cheeky cow, Isle of Tiree (Fiona Armstrong)Spring sheep, Isle of Mull (Ros Gasson)Scouting for Buoys, Isle of Skye (Susie Jean Sharkey)Living with the land, Northton, Harris (Julie Olley)A Tirisdeach at the peats. A rare sight.A good drying day, Isle of Harris (Rebecca Hutton)SUP success, Isle of Bute (Sylvia Smith)Leap of faith (Jo Thomson)Shetland adventures, Westerwick (Laurie Goodland)Eela fishing competition, Shetland Islands (Emma Coote)Quidinish croft potatoes and local mackerel (Heather Williamson)Fergies and friends, Kirkwall, Orkney (Annie Manson)At the peat hill, Shetland (Emma Coote)Kids at the Tiree Wave Classic, Isle of Tiree (Mark Vale)Dad, coming back into Mid Yell Voe (Coleen Thomson)Sundown in Shetland (Laurence Williamson)Fishing boat at the wee pier, Isle of Jura (Kirsten Gow)Sheep in Grimsay, North Uist (Padruig Morrison)Stromness in the snow, Orkney Islands (Mary Duncan)
Pre-order your calendar today!
See the full calendar layout, and order your copy with our pre-order. Please note that the calendars are still being printed. We plan to have the calendars in the post to you by the end of November.
Extracts from my Outer Isles diary 2022, meeting island makers
Summer Wednesdays hold an added joy for us here in Tiree, as we see the Calmac ferry ‘Clansman’ sail past our house on its way through Gunna Sound to Barra. It’s the only day of the week that our Tiree ferry connects us directly with Barra and, as such, offers us an opportunity to visit the outer isles without having to go via Mainland Scotland.
On a bit of a whim, I decided to do just that, and loaded up our van with bedding, utensils, stove, food, clothing, and of course those West Scotland summer essentials: waterproofs and midge repellent. My partner stood at our coastal cairn to share a wave with me as the ferry steamed through Gunna Sound. Adventure underway.
Knowing the challenges all our Scottish islands are experiencing with the volume of visitors, and especially with campervans clogging single track roads and often parking overnight in inappropriate places, I was keen to be a ‘good’ visitor. The Visit Outer Hebrides website gave me a lot of valuable and interesting information, especially the ‘Planning your trip’ section for motorhomes and campervans.
Thanks to this information I was able to locate plenty of overnight parking spots where campervans are welcome, thus avoiding any inconvenience to local residents. Some had a water supply, some a bin, some even had toilets, other places had nothing but level ground and a great view. Many of the parkups have honesty boxes suggesting a donation of £5 or £10 toward upkeep of the site, which I happily gave, even if there were no facilities, for the peace of mind of knowing I wasn’t upsetting anyone by being there. Every third night I checked into a campsite for a wash and brush-up.
Accommodation sorted, I felt free to explore the islands at my own pace, aided by the newly developed Scottish Islands Passport App.
The Scottish Islands Passport team have been working with communities from across Scotland’s six island areas to build a library of over 700 reasons to visit our islands – from mid-winter fire festivals to flower-strewn summer Machair and much, much more besides. And, to help you choose which islands to explore, they have created an app and series of travelogues to help you navigate your way.
All this information at my fingertips was great when I found a phone signal, but often I didn’t (which was also good, one personal aspect of this trip being to take a ‘device’ break). If stuck for signal, ferry terminals and campsites are good bets.
Fortunately, I also had an advance copy of the physical Scottish Islands Passport Travelogue – the first in a series. This one focuses on Island Makers.
My mission was to travel from Barra to Lewis interviewing artists and artisans for a series on island makers – artists, artisans, crafters, producers – for isle20.com. Here are some extracts from my trip diary, with links to the relevant articles:
Barra
My Tiree to Barra sea-journey begins through rain and a lumpen sea, and transforms as sunshine breaks through a wind-cleared sky. The Sea of the Hebrides, dividing the inner from the Outer Hebrides, is a wild channel of water pulled and pushed by strong tidal currents. Whenever I cross these Hebridean seas I contemplate them as the main highways and thoroughfares of the past, and feel great respect for those seafaring folk.
Landing at Castlebay, Barra’s main port, the first thing I clock is the size. Coming from Tiree, this landmass feels huge. Big country. Yet in geographical area Barra is 59 km² to Tiree’s 78 km², so it shouldn’t feel bigger. But terrain makes all the difference, both visually and in terms of acreage, and Barra (highest point 383m) has plenty of hill ground, whereas Tiree (highest point 141m) is mostly flat, with fertile sandy machair fringing inland wet sliabh.
My desire to see the west coast lures me and I drive Barra’s circular road clockwise, taking in a landscape of hills and moorland dotted with croft and farmsteads, trees, marshes and machair, rocky headlands and sandy bays. The road is busy with farm vehicles and not too many campervans: this is a thriving community.
I pull over just north of Borgh and brew up a cuppa with a view out to sea. The Atlantic is full of energy today, a boiling cauldron of currents and rip tides overlain with a froth of wind-pulled-water. Energising to watch, but I don’t think I’ll swim, though I can see one brave (foolhardy?) person in there.
On up the road (through woodland, past lochans and craggy hills) to the north end, and Barra Airport’s famous tidal beach runway. The swathes of pale shell sand to either side of the road cause me a memory-jolt: I was last here 30 years ago with my eldest son, then a babe-in-arms. Happy memories.
Appointments in North Uist tomorrow morning keep me trucking northwards. The ferry to Eriskay gives me views of a scattering of other, smaller islands, glistening with sun-through-rain. Fuideigh, Gioghaigh, Healasaigh, the tiny Greanamul skerry close to, and more distant Lingeigh. Showers scud across us, sunshine breaks through storm cloud, rainbows appear and vanish.
It’s my first day on a trip that I’ve been excited about for many months, so inevitably my head is filled with superlatives and my heart bursting with the magic of it all. But even with a journalist’s objectivity, this archipelago is glorious.
Eriskay, Uist and Berneray
Landing in Eriskay, I focus on my driving and try not to be distracted by glimpses of hill and glen, loch and coast, wildlife sightings and the desire to see Eriskay ponies. Today I must reach Balranald campsite with enough time to cook, eat, sleep. I’ll be back here with more time soon.
Eriskay Pier
Similarily, my drive up South Uist, Benbecula and North Uist is a joy of low slung causeways across sun sparkled water, lochans, wetland, distant hill and crag. Despite my intent focus on the road, I manage to spot a hen harrier quartering a marshy field, a flurry of lapwing lifting off machair, and hear a lone curlew’s plaintive call. Collectively, the islands of the Outer Hebrides are a birdwatcher’s bliss.
Parked up at the campsite in the summer gloaming, overlooking Balranald RSPB reserve, I’m tucked up in my van and well ready for sleep.
~~~
Dwaming to early bird song – oystercatcher, lapwing, skylark, curlew – the wingbeat of swans is what gets me to reach an arm out of cosy bedding and open the van’s slidey door. The sight and sound of a swan flyover pretty much tops my favourite things. I can’t see them today, but the swish-whomp of their wings is all the sweeter for that. Noises off.
Camping is a state one settles into. At first everything – oh so carefully packed – seems to be in the wrong place, behind something bulky, awkward. Over the first 24 hours much further sorting occurs, until everything finds its place. A state of happiness.
North Uist seems to hold a high concentration of resident artists, very possibly due to the Creative Industries courses based at UHI Outer Hebrides Innse Gall at Lochmaddy. First thing today I’m due to meet Corinna Krause at her Sollas Bookbinding studio for coffee, followed by a bowl of soup with performance poet and artist Pauline Prior-Pitt, who lives across the road. As my interviews invariably involve about three hours of meandering chat, these two wonderful women happily fill my day.
Pauline Prior-PittSollas, North UistCorinna Krause
Corinna suggests a great overnight parking spot for me, complete with level ground, honesty box, picnic table, supreme coastal views, and it’s one I return to later in my trip. As the day settles to summer dusk (the never quite dark state we enjoy in these latitudes around the summer equinox), I hunker down to cook supper on my little stove and scan the horizon for any interesting birds (it’s a long held habit). Waders – sanderling, turnstone, ringed plovers, redshank, sandpipers perhaps – flit and feed across the sand-flats. A short-eared owl quarters the grounds on silent wings, checking me out as she passes.
I’m supposed to be meeting artist Cally Yeatman, but she has tested positive for Covid-19. I’ve been shimmying and sashaying around covid, just missing it in all directions. Now it seems I’m to miss out on meeting one of my remarkable makers. We speak on the phone to re-arrange, and end up talking for an hour and covering most of what I would have asked. It’s not as good as meeting, but it will suffice for now.
Early next morning I’m across the causeway to Berneray to visit Eilidh Carr in her treasure trove of a shop, Coralbox. First though, I find shower facilities at the pier. I really do appreciate the Outer Isles community efforts to welcome the more ‘freestyle’ visitor.
A visit to artist-maker Kirsty O’Connor in her garden studio-workshop completes my Berneray interviews. Tomorrow I’m due in Harris – this evening’s ferry crossing from Berneray to Leverburgh seems to take a slalom course through these shallow waters: a symphony of car alarms accompany every turn to skim marker buoys.
Somewhat by accident I find the fabulous Grannie Annie’s – an eclectic collection of vintage art, tweed, crafts and curiosities. I’m deep in dwam over one such curious item when Grannie Annie herself breezes into the shop, all colour and energy and enthusiasm. I can’t explain further – you have to visit!
Scalpay
Rain descends by the bucket-load on my approach to Tarbert. Suddenly not fancying the anticipated stop here, I take the road east. Scalpay bridge opened in 1997 (after my 1991 visit) and I’m keen to see it. Suddenly, looming large through the gloaming, there it is – a massive structure that initially seems out of scale with its surroundings. I pull over and contemplate this giant. Perhaps not beautiful, but reassuringly substantial: if I were a Scalpay resident I’d be glad of it.
Closer to, the bridge has a friendlier demeanour. Cyclists and walkers, and cars tell me its a well used structure. I drive over and find myself on a busy, hilly, twisty-turny single-track road. Mist denies me views of the island, so I retreat back to Harris and find one of the welcome North Harris Trust camping spots to hunker down for the night.
I’m always keen to park with my side door to the lee of the wind, such that I can have it open while I cook, eat and take in the views. Even in howling winds this strategy works pretty well. I awake to discover the wind has swung round 180° – my slidey door is now on the wrong side. Turning the van so I can make breakfast with fresh air and a view, I realise there are cow pats all around – local livestock have used my van as shelter. I did wonder at the ‘bumps in the night’.
Lewis
Grinneabhat is my first Lewis appointment, so I whizz north through the astonishing grandeur of the North Harris hill range, then west past the Callanish stones, aware of my shortcomings as a mere visitor driving through a land and community that deserves more of my attention.
North west Lewis is stormy and monochrome today. I’m due to meet Sandra MacLeod, founder of Modren, at Ness and decide to scoot on up to the Butt of Lewis first. Wild, buffeting wind-swirls at the lighthouse send my hair vertical and threaten to throw me off balance. A young cormorant, unhappy on his cliff ledge, eyes me and my van as if that looks like a better option. It is. Photo taken, I’m back inside with the heater and radio on for succour: warmth and company.
From horizontal wind-rain I cross the threshold into the sanctuary of Comunn Eachdraidh Nis – warmth and peace. As a community facility, this is impressive, informative, much welcomed.
Great Bernera
Head spinning with interview overload, I’m seeking solitude for a bit of downtime. Head west, is my instinct, and I’m not disappointed. A sharp intake of breath accompanies my first sight of the bridge to Great Bernera. Unlike the causeways connecting various parts of Uist, this is a big, bold, concrete bridge. I later read that its 1950s construction in pre-stressed concrete heralded a major international breakthrough in civil engineering (and also, I imagine, a significant change for Great Bernera residents).
Next to it there is now a new bridge, also an award winner for its innovative 90 metre clearspan modular steel structure. Yet again, necessity is the mother of invention. A Great Bernera resident tells me,
“The new one is for cars, the old one has now been painted by the community, is for pedestrians (and cyclists) and has picnic tables on it, great spot for fishing. The sheep now cross using the old bridge, very smart animals! : )”
What a wonderful image.
I follow the road up and over and down and round some truly gorgeous terrain. Bosta beach: oh my goodness what a magical place. An Iron Age settlement, a Time & Tide bell (one of only seven of these art installations in the UK), a beautiful small beach with a tantalisingly short, but racey, stretch of water dividing Great from Little Bernera, and a wee parking spot with loos, a water tap, a bin and a contribution box. Two golden eagles overhead, a snipe drumming nearby: I’m in my element here.
My sister has asked if I’m passing Island Darkroom as she is interested in attending a photography workshop there. I am, or I certainly can. Delighted with my detour to meet yet another remarkable maker, I head into Stornoway for a bit of food shopping.
On down the road, to Loch Erisort for my next meeting, with textile artist Emma MacKenzie and yet another delightfully life-enhancing blether. Sudden rain squalls through sunshine add drama to an already astonishing landscape. Looking at the OS maps, for many parts of this archipelago ‘waterscape’ would be a fairer description, given the loch to land proportions.
Honesty Boxes, Great BerneraMhairi LawEmma MacKenzie
Negotiating my way along a twisty coastal road, two white-tailed sea eagles appear overhead, darkening the sky with their proximity. Driving and birdwatching is a risky sport: I pull over and watch as they drift effortlessly toward Loch Erisort. (If you are ever in doubt about the identification of an eagle in flight, sea eagles do pretty much look like barn doors, flat across the wings, in contrast to the more majestic shallow V shape of the golden eagle.)
During our chat Emma told me about the Postman’s Path, a walking route that the posties used to use to reach Reinigeadal, in Harris, the last UK village to gain a road (in 1990). I realise how little I am really experiencing by simply driving through this landscape, and feel a keen need to come back with hiking boots.
Before I know it on my way back south through Uist to Barra and thence home to Tiree. My interviews are done, but there are still a few miles to drive, and one particular island off the west coast of North Uist catches my attention.
Baleshare
A low slung causeway takes me over inter-tidal sands to a welcoming open machair island-scape. Machair, beach and surf. A Tiree vibe: a home from home treat. I follow my nose and end up on a west facing pebble/grass parking area overlooking wild surf. Sea haar adds mystique and prevents a view of the Monach Islands. Half a dozen other vans are spaced along the coast and for the first time I strike up conversations with a few folk – surfers all, and lovely relaxed people from the world over.
My night is beautiful, rocked to sleep by sea breeze, lulled by lapping waves, calmed with salt air. On my way back across the causeway a male merlin flits past me.
South Uist
Heading south I’m passing the turn off to Loch Druidibeg when I spot some ponies. I turn back and, like a true tourist, pause to photograph them. Now I might as well go on along this minor road to the RSPB lochside parking area.Two golden eagles soar and spar on crag-top thermals, hassled by hooded crows (providing a handy sense of scale).
It’s only here that I discover there’s an Outer Hebrides Bird of Prey Trail – how on earth did I miss that! The fabulous mountains, the birdlife – I really am going to come back with more time to walk and look.
~~~
On reflecting on my outer isles island maker interviews it occurs to me that everyone wants to talk about much bigger issues than their own artwork. Our wide-ranging conversations cover world events, politics, environmental crisis, biodiversity, housing. Then it occurs to me that this goes hand in hand with being an artist – they are always looking to the bigger picture, therefore almost by definition there’s going to be a message or comment within the art. They are philosophical, critical thinkers, they aren’t merely painting pretty pictures, or writing rhyming verse, or making artefacts – they are commenting on the world, making a point, living their politics.
I feel honoured to have shared some time with them, heard their thought-provoking views, seen their working environment. This has been a fabulous journey through, and insight into, the thriving creative communities of the Outer Hebrides.
As I park alongside a sleek woodclad house, home to Sollas Bookbinding, a woman flits past the window, ushering me in with a welcoming wave. I walk into a familiarly busy kitchen scene: children, puppy, baking, washing, breakfast, homework, games, projects, ringing telephones….all ably orchestrated and overseen by the woman I have come to interview. Between washing up, making coffee and answering calls, she explains that they are journeying to her Berlin homeland in a couple of days. Meantime there are projects to finish, shop shelves to re-stock, travel bags to pack, the house to clean (a dog-sitter is moving in) and the small matter of concrete foundations to pour for a pod that’s due to be erected in their garden.
Corinna Krause is a very busy woman!
Coffees in hand, we move through to the relative haven of peace that is Corinna’s studio workshop. Having seen her handmade books on isle20, and having bought her book making kit myself (with three lovely booklets to show for it), I recognise the tools on the bench, the sheafs of handmade paper, and the finished results stacked on shelves. I can appreciate the time and skill that goes into creating these tactile works of art.
As she works on a set of book covers, Corinna tells me how she came to be here, and how she created her artisan bookbinding studio. Born and schooled in East Germany, Corinna took Celtic & English Studies at Edinburgh University, a choice prompted by a year in Ireland where the music and Gaelic reminded her of her folk music roots (she learned Classical and Traditional Mandolin at school). Her first visit to North Uist was for the music and the Gaelic, the unexpected part was to fall in love with the place. Meeting the poet Pauline Prior-Pitt here, and subsequently marrying her son Paul, was the icing on the cake.
Already a freelance English:German translator Corinna undertook a PhD on the significance of self-translation by Gaelic poets into English in terms of cross-cultural understanding and acceptance. In need of something tangible and physical to do with her hands, she returned to her old pastime of bookbinding, and thus was Sollas Bookbinding born.
Why North Uist? Corinna’s first response surprises me: having a circular road helps to define the community’s geographical area better than would a linear through-road. I concur: the islands where I feel more comfortable have that element of circularity, of embracing both land and community. To her list of the joys of living here Corinna adds beaches that bend around corners, idyllic swimming spots, innovative new and converted housing, an arts centre (Taigh Chearsabhagh) that attracts a vibrant art community, and, most importantly, the freeing of one’s mind in being able to look to long and broad horizons.
All the time we are talking Corinna is selecting, cutting, glueing, positioning, pressing, assessing. Her pile of book bindings grows. Her hand movements seem to prompt her thoughts. She tells me that her bookbinding journey began in Germany, inspired by learning how to transform two dimensional materials into three dimensional objects. Making her own decorative paper has been inspired and informed by her Scottish island environment, and through collaborations with other local artists. Joint exhibitions with themes like ‘rock & water’, ‘edge’, ‘sand’, ‘fishnet’ and ‘Hebridean spaces’ provide focus and stretch her creative mind and skills.
More personal projects include sea swimming log books, and chopping her husband’s old fish farm overalls (when he was made redundant) to make fish-stencilled bookcloth: ‘Plenty more fish in the sea’. Locally woven tweed also makes an appearance in a recent collaboration with weaver Margaret Rowan.
On the practicalities of running an island-based business, Corinna says it’s all pros and no cons. Establishing is easier, with lower rental costs, and a choice of part-time jobs to tide one over (island economies run on the power of the part-time multi-tasker). Materials can be sourced locally or ordered online, and products can be sold direct from the studio, online, or in many local shops. The vital ingredients (and I hear this again and again during my Island Makers odyssey) are ‘courage, funds and support’.
Another essential ingredient to a thriving island life is, as a forementioned, to multi-task. Hence building the pod, which will be advertised via isleHoliday.com (the holiday let platfrom that supports our Scottish island communities) for holidaymakers, and for those wishing to attend her bookbinding workshops.
The old adage, ‘if you want something doing, ask a busy woman’ springs to mind when contemplating Corinna’s portfolio of achievements and ongoing projects, ideas and dreams. She’s a veritable ball of energy, an inspiration, and a joy to meet.
I’m in croft heaven. Twice-my-height willows sway and flex in the breeze all around me, thriving on fertile coastal ground knee deep with grasses and sedges, buttercups and rushes, marsh marigold and silverweed. Veggie patches and fruit bushes blend into this biodiverse haven, organic in every sense. A polytunnel crammed with burgeoning strawberry, tomato and salad plants nestles into the willow shelter. An eclectic collection of sheds house the tools of various enterprises, from gardening to fishing to willow weaving.
Earlier, I had arrived in time to witness a feeding frenzy in the Croft 36 honesty-box shed, as the day’s bakery products swiftly vanished into cars, vans and bike panniers. I had thought to politely wait my turn, but this was a mistake: when the coast cleared and I did pop my head into the shed, the shelves were bare, not a crumb left. The advertised opening hours of “11am until sold out” mean exactly that.
Lucky for me, Julie waved from the croft gate, welcomed me into the kitchen of their uniquely wonderful self-built home and fed me her delicious scones and coffee while we blethered. Steve, the other half of this Croft 36 partnership, and still testing positive to Covid-19, waved from a safe distance then vanished outside.
Julie and Steve took over the tenancy of Croft 36 in 1997 and, true to crofting tradition, have worked the land and coastal waters in a multitude of ways whilst bringing up their family. Draining the land via a lot of ditch digging allowed veggie crops to thrive, and the planting of thousands of willows created shelter and future cropping potential, which they are now coppicing as willow rods for weaving, and for firewood.
Food production via cultivating, fishing, baking and cooking (bread, pizza, quiche, soups, pasties, fish and seafood meals) all developed into a diverse, thriving, and very busy croft business. All produce is either their own or very local. Willow weaving products and workshops have also been added to their list of activities.
Twenty-five years on, Steve and Julie are keen to focus in and simplify, and have found wonderful help in the form of Sarah joining their team. Steve, in his own words (we have met him outside) is on a mission now to, ‘climb a hill before we’re too old’ and ‘have more fun’. With this in mind he shows me into their brick oven building – built entirely from scratch using re-claimed stone along with modern materials – complete with bread/pizza oven and seaweed drying racks. It’s a gorgeous space, blending old and new, tradition and innovation, and I can sense their excitement at this element of their ongoing adventure – though I’m not sure how it’s going to make them less busy!
‘Offshoot, off grid’: pizzas and baking oven fired by own-grown willow, and buildings warmed and lit by the power of wind turbine and solar panels, they really are living by their own keywords:
Eilidh Carr remembers playing ‘shop’ as a kid, so setting up shop for real in her home island of Berneray came naturally to this enterprising and talented artist. Having studied photography at Aberdeen University, Eilidh chose to move home in 2015 to pursue her art in the inspiring land, sea and sky scapes of her childhood.
Coralbox was born, and found initial success through craft fairs and table-top sales. High commission rates and limited shelf space in other local shops was frustrating, so Eilidh took a bold leap of faith and set up her own shop, initially in a caravan. The business rapidly outgrew this space, and Eilidh and her father designed and built a delightful bespoke wooden gift shop for Coralbox to expand into.
Looking around the shelves packed with a range of arts and crafts to please every customer, I can see why the extra space was needed, and it’s a joy to browse. Whilst I’m there several folk call in, for a blether with Eilidh and a nose through any new delights. As she says, this is a hub as much as a shop. Pre-covid she had a coffee machine, and hopes to bring it back.
Covid-19 lockdowns could have been a disaster for such a new enterprise, but online sales through isle20 and Coralbox helped the business to thrive and flourish. Eilidh’s time is fully occupied with the shop, making her own products (printing her glorious photos onto mugs, t-towels, coasters etc) and exploring Berneray with her camera and drone. She’s also a keen paddleboarder and sea-swimmer.
Enthusiastic to share the beauty of Berneray, Eilidh and her family set up coralboxwebcam, which is watched the world over. Social media followers also get regular updates on solo adventures in her gorgeous home-converted campervan, a tour of which has given me new ideas for my own van.
Eilidh gives her top reasons for choosing to come home as, “peace, a quiet life, and family” and adds that there are increasing numbers of ‘young returners’ – local kids who are choosing to return to their island homelands after a few years away at university, travelling or working. Despite the increasingly problematic housing shortage (as more houses become holiday lets and no new housing stock has been built since the mid 1990s) living with a deep sense of place, of kith and kin, of belonging, is becoming a priority for many.
“I received no funding or grants to start up my business or build, which at the time was difficult and hard work but now looking back, means I have achieved everything myself, which I am so proud of.”
Showing what’s possible with vision and hard work, this singular, intrepid and joyous young woman has achieved a dramatic turnaround from her initial situation, to create her own shop that stocks other makers’ products as well as her own.
Like so many island makers I am meeting, Emma MacKenzie is a multi-tasker extraordinaire. Her love of textiles began with spinning and dyeing, felting and sewing, all skills taught to her by the Barvas wool and spinning group. From this she has developed her own unique style of collage to produce stunning images of the land and seascapes that surround her.
Originally from Cornwall, Emma moved to Lewis with her parents and has now lived here through her own daughter’s schooling. Work includes gathering seaweed for the Stornoway based Ishga skincare company, and leading Hidden Hebrides walking groups. Her daughter, who is now studying art, encouraged Emma to find time to get creative and experiment with her textile techniques.
Transforming her creative ‘playtime’ into the public sphere of exhibiting and selling her art has been a big step, the success of which has surprised her (though it doesn’t me, as her work is captivating). She now sells in cafes and galleries, at craft fairs and through Open Studios Hebrides as well as online via isle20. Her framed pieces are so popular that the challenge now is to keep up with demand.
As well as providing outlets for her work, Open Studios, exhibitions and craft fairs give the opportunity to meet other makers, to share ideas, collaborate and inspire each other. Events dotted through the seasons encourage a sense of belonging to a creative community and help to stem any feelings of isolation.
After a kitchen coffee and blether, Emma invites me to her studio, ‘to see where the magic happens’ and I find myself in a glory hole of colourful off-cuts of textiles, threads and found objects – feathers, wool, sticks etc. Recycling discarded fabrics, and using what the natural world provides, forms an important link with Emma’s depictions of the environment. Emma paints outdoors, on location, to capture the atmosphere of the scene, then brings the initial painting back to her studio.
She takes me through the process: choosing a piece of fabric, painting a scene onto it in acrylic and watercolour paints, backing it with stronger fabric, and then the magic of machine-stitching back and forth through it with a ‘free needle’ and myriad thread colours. Additional materials (whisps of sheep’s wool, fragments of fishing net, feathers) are glued then stitched over, adding depth and texture to the emerging image.
I ask the inevitable question about her source of inspiration. In amongst her working days and helping her parents (who live next door), two energetic dogs require to be walked, and this is the time (about two hours per day) when Emma can contemplate her surroundings.
‘We are such a small part within this huge Lewisian landscape, and nature is very much in charge here and we at the mercy of it. My art is an attempt to capture that.’
In a fate sadly common to many rural primary schools, Bragar school closed in 2012. Having opened in 1878 and with a peak role-call of 200 children, it was a sad day when the area lost its school and the building lost its purpose. The good news is that Bragar community rallied their creative, practical and financial resources to re-purpose the building into what is now Grinneabhat: a beautiful community hub and hostel.
I visit on a dreich July day, and am mightily glad to be welcomed indoors by Tina MacPhail, Grinneabhat Manager, who exudes enthusiasm and knowledge about every aspect of the history, the current situation and future hopes for the place. With a great uncle in the 1923 school photo, and schooled here herself (subsequently gaining a business degree before working in hospitality, and as finance assistant for Stornoway Art Centre), she’s an ideal person for this role.
As Tina says, “Grinneabhat is for the community, and was created by the community”. Many people pitched in to help with every aspect: fund raising, historical research, community questionnaires, building work and interior design. Initially developed as a social hub for all sorts of community get-togethers, art and exercise classes and the like, Lottery funding augmented local donations to enable a full renovation of the building (designed and built by local architects, builders and artisans). A wonderful wall of photo-tiles in the foyer depicts donors, or their ancestors who lived here.
Tina shows me around and I can see how carefully the character and spirit of the school has been maintained throughout. High ceilings and original wooden v-lining are freshly painted in a very particular blue-green and white that reminds me of my own school days. Classrooms have been minimally altered to form an exhibition space, a meeting room, a café. A plasterer’s handprint, signed ‘John Murray 1933’ uncovered during renovations, has been left exposed and framed. In a twist of fate, it was another John Murray who discovered it.
An 1897 map shows North and South Bragar land boundaries and another beautiful art map, created by local artist Anne Campbell, shows Gaelic place names. Local artists can display their work in the old P6-7 classroom. As well as hostel accommodation – four well-appointed rooms and a spacious communal kitchen – a launderette has been installed into what used to be the school cloakrooms. Accommodation can be booked through isleHoliday – the organisation that puts profits back into islands.
Outside there’s a ‘man shed’ where locals can gather to share time and tools, veggie plots and a polycrub for community food growing. Future ideas and plans include an outdoor dining area and bunkhouse, a fleet of EV bikes and a sensory garden. But all of this needs coordinating, and funding is being sought to salary a groundsperson.
Grinneabhat employs a dozen folk, ten of whom are locals. In the foyer is a cabinet full of local crafts with an honesty box. Exhibitions, concerts, dances, singing, poetry, storytelling, cooking demonstrations and suppers: all of this represents an ongoing revitalisation and celebration of culture, with work and money being ploughed back into the community.
As I walk back across the car park I notice shapes and colours on the tarmac – faded tractors, broken ladders, pale snakes – it’s the remnants of the old school playground, and another example of the sensitive renovation work that has breathed new life into this property, whilst honouring its past.
“Fortune or luck is my theme” Heike of Mustheb tells me as we settle in for a blether in her wonderfully warm and aromatic kitchen. I would liken this room, the heart of her mustard making adventure, to any artist’s studio or chemist’s laboratory. It’s a hub of creative experiment.
Heike’s fortune, or luck, is many layered. She was born and raised in Düsseldorf, home of the famous German mustard. Her Grandmother taught her to make mustards, pickles, preserves and ketchups, and her own mustard ventures became gifts for friends and family. In 2012 she and partner Stephan visited Scotland and, on a bit of a hunch, took the Oban to Barra ferry then travelled northwards. “We had no plans whatsoever to move” Heike emphasises, “but when we reached South Harris we had an emotional moment, and our decision was made, in that moment!”.
Back in Germany, they felt they no longer belonged. With their sensible heads on, they re-visited Harris in winter – and still loved it. December 2016 saw them make the move: a move they remain delighted with to this day.
Heike Winter is a writer, has worked as a press officer and in marketing, and is also a freelance life-coach for self-realisation, forward-looking potential, “following your heart, listening to your gut, and trusting both”. So when she dreamed the word ‘mustheb’ and wondered what that meant, and then a book she took off a shelf fell from her hands and lay open with the word ‘mustard’ staring back at her, she was tuned in and open to a new idea. Stephan said, ‘why not?’; the Business Gateway people said, ‘why not!’ and thus was Mustheb, the Hebridean Mustard Company born, in 2017.
Heike set to, developing a range of eight mustard varieties, which she sells online via isle20 and her own website, through local shops and at The Mustard Shack at Leverburgh, South Harris, where you can also enjoy a tasting session at, reportedly, the only mustard tasting tent in the world!.
Inspiration and creativity comes from, “everywhere, all the time” says Heike. “With an open heart and mind you can allow sensory inputs from the environment, nature, the seasons, life events. Aromas play a big part, evoking memories and invoking ideas. Then you filter: use the useful and release the rest”. I’ve heard similar expressed by an author, “write from the heart, edit with the mind”.
Heike’s future plans are to focus on her ever-popular mustard range, to incorporate new varieties, and to further develop collaborations with other Scottish artisan makers and growers whose ethos and mission align, such as the Scottish Bee Company. There is a whole new, purpose-built kitchen in the dream too….
Heike is herself a joy to meet, a lifter of spirits and an inspiration. If you find yourself in Harris, make a point of going to her tasting shed, it’s a delightful experience.
We talk from the get go, from the gate, ‘sorry it’s closed, the sheep get in to the garden otherwise’ to the kitchen, ‘would you like soup?’ I arrive at 12.45, leave at 15.45. As I’m walking away from her shed, `a moment of guilt, wonderment, humour, passes between us – have we actually covered the necessities of the interview? ‘I can send you more information’ – is all that’s actually verbalised.
In between, we pack everything, including the kitchen sink. I’d say ‘cabbages and kings’ but those weren’t covered, unless of course they are metaphors for women in kitchens and men with big egos. In which case we covered both.
However, here and now, I’ll confine myself to writing about Pauline Prior-Pitt, poet and artist.
Pauline moved to North Uist in 1997, having taken early retirement from her teacher-advisor post (specialising in dyslexia) in the Midlands to make time for poetry. She is keen to emphasise that she enjoyed her job, but realised the need to give time and space to her creative energies. The latter involved a move north and west, crucially to live by the sea.
A natural performer, Pauline had thought of acting as a career, and enjoys reading her poems to audiences, very much revelling in the joy of the spoken word. She runs local monthly poetry evenings and writing workshops, and supports the Scottish Book Trust’s live literature programme, which financially helps poets to travel to less populated locations, both by welcoming other poets to North Uist, and by travelling to different locations herself.
Whilst she has a small regret at the loss of her poetry performance work at ‘big ladies lunches’ in England, this is massively outweighed by the environment – seascape, landscape, flora and fauna – in which she now lives, and from which she has developed new veins of writing and painting.
What is it about the ‘scapes’ (land, sea, sky) that inspires? For Pauline it is meditative, and the resulting poetry is often a blend of one’s mood or feelings at the time, perhaps something one is going through, with the visual and visceral environment, the weather, the season. The physicality of walking prompts words. Elements in the landscape can be reminiscent of other things, like the flock of shorebirds that reminded her of falling snow in her ‘shore sequence’.
There is something magical about a slim volume of poems, and Pauline’s exquisite books are no exception. ‘Storm Biscuits’, ‘Written on the Shore’, ‘Be an Angel’, ‘No Better Place’, ‘Elsewhere’ – their very titles are evocative and intriguing. Covering everything from the Clearances to Covid and from the many facets of women’s lives to the power and beauty of the ever present ocean. Metaphors abound.
Pauline’s break into the Scottish poetry scene came via her pamphlets, when one of these hand stitched and illustrated little beauties – ‘North Uist Sea Poems’ – won her the Callum MacDonald Award in 2006.
Soup finished, I’m invited to see Pauline’s workshop, which turns out to be a dream of a shed in the garden. Spacious, light-filled and (vitally for these climes) insulated. Slight confusion ensues as I find myself in more of an artist’s studio, less of a poet’s study*. Painting has become another outlet for Pauline’s creativity, a new language in describing her beloved seascapes. She finds the two disciplines of poetry and painting to provide a productive balance of the cerebral and the physical.
This is when I discover that Pauline studied drawing and painting on the UHI BA degree course in Fine Art at Taigh Chearsabhagh in 2004. She exclusively sells her gorgeous seascapes from her studio, as part of ‘Art on the Map’, a decision taken in order not to ever feel pressured to increase the volume of her painterly output. If you want one, you have to go to North Uist.
The word Pauline leaves me with is ‘play’. She plays with words, plays with paint. Has fun. Earlier in my visit, a grandson had popped in to collect a painting he and she had worked (or played) on together. With her sparkling, mischievous eyes, Pauline is playful, entertaining, and great fun to be around.
*When I send a draft of this article to Pauline for her thoughts, she picks up on my confusion about the shed:
“I can’t believe that I didn’t show you my writing room. It’s above the kitchen, reached by an electric staircase that comes down by the back door. It has a beautiful view of the sea and is crammed with a desk and lots of poetry books and very untidy.” I put this omission down to our conversation veering rapidly off the topic at hand, and I feel an immediate urge to return to North Uist, if only to visit that idyllic writing space.
I initially find out about Kirsty O’Connor through a Tiree friend who attended UHI (University of Highlands and Islands) art college at Taigh Chearsabhagh in Lochmaddy. I’ve already passed through the Isle of Berneray on my Outer Isles odyssey, but I’m more than happy to re-trace my steps for such a fascinating artist.
Looking at her work online, I’m drawn by her soul vessels, a series of beautifully formed ceramic boats shown in her 2017 exhibition. Once in her studio, my eyes flit from her few remaining boats, to bird vessels in the making, a group of earth mothers on a shelf and various other intriguing shapes and forms emerging out of clay.
Kirsty’s initial training was in textiles at Bradford College in England. During the two year weaving course it was mandatory to do two day’s drawing per week. Life drawing classes led Kirsty to think more about the female form and later fed into her work with clay.
Born in the Channel Islands, Kirsty has been moving north ever since. After a spell in Yorkshire she moved to Edinburgh, studying ceramics at South Bridge Resource Centre, as well as learning and subsequently teaching book binding. Next came a stint at Culross Pottery in Fife, and then a portfolio art course in Ullapool, and finally a move west to Berneray.
Within that synopsis of her journey to the Outer Isles lie a wealth of experiences, adventures and stories: running away with a circus, artist-in-residence in a psychiatric hospital and at conferences, travelling overland to India, designing logos and leaflets for small businesses, working for the wholefood co-operative Suma, and always reading and learning – all of which inform and enrich her creative endeavours
Kirsty initially moved here to study art at UHI Lochmaddy campus, during the first year of which she began making boats, which led to her Soul Vessels exhibition, based on the five generations of boat building by the Stewart family of Grimsay. These were boats used for fishing and domestic purposes: transporting sheep on and off smaller islands for summer grazing, collecting peats, and as a mail boat for the Monach or Heisker Islands.
Kirsty’s installation coincided with a lot of world media attention on the migrant ‘boat people’, and also reflects the boat as the cradle of soul and the vessel of birth and death – themes of many cultural beliefs and traditions. Here, especially, boats loom large in terms of life – as transport when the sea routes were more important than land routes – and in terms of death/loss: kith and kin lost at sea and lost through the Clearances. The fact that many of her soul vessels are bought by people who have lost a loved one shows her that her theme is understood and appreciated.
Taking forward the theme of vessels of birth, Kirsty has produced stunning and illuminating work on embodiment of the female form, motherhood and female sexuality. She says there was huge support at the art college for innovative and risqué work, even though the visual arts – unlike the aural arts of poetry, song, music, storytelling and practical crafts like weaving cloth, knitting and building boats – are not traditional to the Hebrides.
“I’ve been here 10 years and love it. I’ve no smart phone, no car, no Amazon account. I take the shopping bus to the Sollas Co-op when I need to, and order more specialist foods through Highland Wholefoods. I try to live in a way that’s as close to nature and light on resources as I can. I follow my heart and feel privileged to be able to live as an artist.”
Kirsty’s new work is focusing on seabirds and the impact of climate change and ocean plastic pollution on their survival, hence the elegant bird-like forms taking shape on her workbench. I very much look forward to seeing the resultant installation. Meanwhile though, I simply cannot leave her studio without two of her irresistably tactile earth mothers.
I’m told to look out for a shed in the garden behind a white house, and it takes a couple of passes and a conversation with her father for me to find Rebecca Hutton at her loom. Her shed, in reality only just big enough space for her Hattersley mark 2 loom, yarns, cloth and sundry acoutrements, is a tardis (time and relative dimensions in space): a world away from the world. A strangely mobile cardboard box turns out to be Bobbin’s favourite hangout. Pirn, the other resident cat, is shy and probably won’t come in whilst I’m here.
Rebecca cheerfully explains that she’s weaving her first length of cloth since installing a replacement shaft, and it’s looking good, but her fingers are still crossed that nothing else will break under the strain of the whole machine having to accommodate the replacement part.
Production of Hattersley mark 2 looms stopped in the 1980s, and parts are hard to come by. After several months of asking and searching, an old shaft was sourced in Ness, Lewis. Over years of use, the rhythm of a loom causes parts to wear in ways unique to that loom’s personality, so fitting a shaft from another is not necessarily going to work. It puts me in mind of human organ transplants – even a seemingly ideal match can be rejected.
Rebecca is one of very few independent Harris Tweed weavers who weave single-width cloth (currently five in Harris and 14 in Lewis). Although her forebears were all weavers, she had gone off to university to pursue another life. Returning home to help with family matters in 2012 coincided with the Harris Tweed Development Group offering weaving courses and sourcing looms to encourage more folk into what was becoming a dying art.
Rebecca was given a timely boost in the form of renowned Luskentyre weaver Donald John MacKay calling by one day to suggest she weave him a massive 43×8 yard (a weaver’s yard is 8ft) length of cloth. When that passed the stringent regulations required of the Harris Tweed Orb (their trademark of certification that the cloth has been, “Handwoven by the islanders at their homes in the Outer Hebrides, finished in the Outer Hebrides, and made from pure virgin wool dyed and spun in the Outer Hebrides.”) Rebecca was up and running as a bona fide Harris Tweed weaver, and her business, Taobh Tuath Tweeds, has thrived and flourished since.
I perch on the minimal shelf-seat at her loom while we chat, and wonder at the ingenious design of this timeless machine that can turn yarn into such richly coloured weaves of cloth. Rebecca shows me a selection of dyed sheep’s wool, and explains that the colour is literally ‘dyed in the wool’ – batches of fleece are dyed in primary colours before being selected by weight according to the required colour ‘recipe’, mix-blown through a chute, carded, rolled and spun into yarn, rather than the more normal method of dyeing a finished yarn with the desired colour. This means individual colours can still be seen within the warp and weft of the cloth, thus providing the rich tapestry effect that so ably reflects the myriad colours of the landscape.
Within the rules of Harris Tweed production, independent weavers can design their own cloth, and Rebecca has a wonderful, colourful range. Among her most popular is her random patchwork tweed, a riot of ever changing colourways made of the leftover pirn ends (the rod onto which weft thread is wound in order to weave it through the warps). Her cloth can be bought by the yard, and she has also diversified into a range of tweed coasters and jigsaws (the latter using photos of folds of tweed to challenge the most committed of dissectologists).
In returning to the family tradition, Rebecca has embraced her decision of a decade ago to move back home. Cutting peats, harvesting tatties, caring for family and dealing with tourists is all part of modern croft life, at the hub of which resides her weaving shed, the fruit of the loom providing sustenance.
Knitting is a skill often learned from a grandparent, with perhaps more time on their hands than a busy parent. For Margaret Anne Elder, learning to knit at her Granny’s knee became the inspiration for her Herring Girl Collection and Granny’s intricately knitted jumpers are the source of the many traditional patterns she now uses.
Seeking a way to illuminate and honour the hard work ethic and stoicism of the Herring Girls, Margaret Anne dreamed up a knitwear collection whilst still working within the Social Enterprise and Community Development world. Ironically, it was being told at a work appraisal that she was ‘too enterprising’ that triggered her decision to resign and build her own company. With the story of the herring girls on her mind (her own Granny was one) she launched her knitwear range at the Mòd 2019 by knitting pieces for the Barra choir.
Whilst this gave her new venture plenty of publicity, funds were required to set up the framework of the business: yarn, knitters, a website, images, leaflets, labels and so on. Again, in an ironic twist, Margaret Anne decided to raise her own funds rather than apply for a start-up grant, and worked out that eight weeks of B&B in her house would suffice. This meant she did not have to shoehorn her idea into the requirements of a grant application, but could focus on the strong story and brand that the herring girl history offered.
Keen to keep everything local, Margaret Anne uses local freelance knitters and models (often from her own family). Stephen Kearney of Little Day Productions for photos, with accompanying music by Mick MacNeil (of Simple Minds fame). Both are from Barra families and live in Barra.
Mugs of coffee in hand, Margaret Anne shows me through to her studio space, which is clearly a hive of activity. Floor to ceiling shelving stores yarn, finished pieces, labels, leaflets and packaging. She unwraps two stunning jumpers knitted by her Granny and points out the different patterns, explaining that they all hold meaning. A panel of ‘true lovers’ knot’ is knitted into a Barra jumper, whereas an Eriskay jumper will have the ‘footprint’ pattern, such that a fisherman’s identity can be ascertained. The ‘marriage lines’ pattern is popular, with its obvious sentiment. Anchors, sails, fishing nets, shells and ‘tree of life’ are all traditional patterns.
The herring girls followed the fish on a seasonal basis – Barra, Stornoway, Broadford, Wick, Lerwick, Nairn, Peterhead, Aberdeen, Great Yarmouth – and each piece is accompanied with an informative story tag about the origin of its pattern. Colourways of ‘seas of green’, ‘oceans of blue’, ‘shades of the shore’ and ‘colours of the croft’ add an evocative depth to all the garments. In another nod to the origins of the knitting tradition, each freelance knitter is identifiable by their historic family boat name (every fishing family kept the same name for successive boats) rather than using their own name.
Margaret Anne has also taken on commissioned pieces where she will design and incorporate something unique and meaningful to the customer – a Chinese symbol for instance – but these commissions take time and energy away from her core passion, which is to highlight and honour the fisherwomen who worked so hard by breathing new life into their knitting tradition.
As a very basic knitter myself, I am in awe of the skill involved in the pattern work and the attention to historic detail incorporated into contemporary design. I’m also hugely impressed with the energy, vision and guts with which Margaret Anne has taken her nugget of an idea and grown it into a thriving business. She herself is a product of, and credit to, her hardworking and tough female forebears, and with a daughter, a grand-daughter and her cousin’s two daughters all taking an interest, the Herring Girl Collection looks set to thrive and flourish.
The day I’m due to meet Cally Yeatman she is still testing positive for Covid-19. I ring her to rearrange, and an hour later we are still on the phone, having naturally talked our way through most of what I might have asked in an interview. I still hope to meet this multi-talented artist, but in the meantime our phone-chat has lifted my spirits and filled a few notebook pages.
Cally trained as an architect, “in the days when we still drew by hand, standing at a drawing board, with the physicality, coordination and the expansive scale that that entails”. Now architects work at a computer, sitting down, hunched and working within the bounds of a screen, which Cally feels stifles freedom of thought as well as limiting physical movement. Her training, which included drawing and painting, gave her a taste for big scenes on large canvasses.
A need for more physicality led her to a pottery course in Essex, and on to a decade of working with clay in a community studio. As a ‘midlife hurrah’ Cally came to North Uist for a Fine Art course. At the time there was no wheel or kiln at the college, so she moved on to driftwood sculpture and drawing.
Working on the theme of connection to other living creatures, Cally chose to focus on limpets and how they find their ideal ‘fit’ within a rock surface and repeatedly return to it. In similar vein, she painted a massive canvas depicting ‘The living wall – Guillemot cliffs’ – which can be seen in the Downpour Gin tasting rooms on Benbecula, and is hugely worth a visit.
Birds – rocks – standing stones – Cally’s artistic focus on sense of place and finding somewhere we fit continues. On finding our niche, she ponders, is there any need to go elsewhere, when we have a lifetime of discovering, comprehending and learning to be found in the history, culture, habitats and biodiversity all around us. I’m reminded of poet and novelist George MacKay Brown, who rarely felt the need to leave his hometown of Stromness, Orkney, yet wrote with such global perspective.
Our chat meanders back and forth, up and down the single-track roads and hill tracks of life. At some point in our wanderings and wonderings, she points out to me that traditional routes across the islands were east to west, rather than the modern preponderance of north-south roads. This harks back to the hey-day of the sea roads: travelling by boat, good harbour was to be found on the east coast, whereas fertile land was to be found on the west. Hence, many old east-west walking routes can still be traced.
By her own description, ‘happiest under the sky’, Cally is a kayaker, a beach moocher and a gardener who would always prefer to be outdoors, sketchpad in hand, contemplating nature. Her wonderfully evocative paintings and drawings reflect an intimate knowledge of wildlife, coast and cliff.
I’m not really supposed to be here, but my sister asked me to drop in on Island Darkroom, as she’s interested in coming on a workshop here. So my plan is to blend in with the shop visitors and not announce myself as a journalist interviewing makers, but as I park I can see someone moving around inside, and before I know it she is out and saying hello, and she’s so delightfully enthusiastic and forthcoming that I end up in her kitchen for coffee and a blether.
Photographer Mhairi Law established Island Darkroom in 2018, having fallen in love with the landscapes of Lewis. Is it the environment that inspires her work, I ask? She turns that idea on its head: we are so immersed in landscape here, that it’s almost not a choice. We aren’t merely onlookers, we live ‘in’ the landscape, not superimposed ‘on’ to it. Documenting our current existence here also illuminates elements of the lives of those who were here before us, and raises interesting questions.
Spotting part of an old wall in vegetation, for instance, or the contours of runrigs, reminds one that this place was peopled and cultivated. Juxtaposed peat cuttings and electricity pylons brings the historical into the present. Being able to tell the story through visuals of the landscape brings to life the character of a culture, the resident humans and their way of life, their struggle for survival.
Her studio space, originally built by her partner as a workshop, houses an eclectic collection of artisanal wares, from her own and other artist’s photographic work, to Mhairi’s unique cyanotype prints and fabrics. A cyanotype kit explains this fascinating process.
Through a doorway Mhairi’s workdesk and sewing machine share space with displays of garments and bags she has designed and made. A Harris Tweed smock catches my eye – decades ago I was inseparable from my traditional cotton twill fisherman’s smock and it’s heartening to see local cloth used to create a twist on the classic style.
There’s an magical energy here, an infusion of Mhairi’s own joyful creativity and her generosity in sharing her space and ideas with others.
Proceeds from the sale of the calendar will go back into supporting island businesses through marketing for isle20.com, and through the activities of Isle Develop CIC, a Social Enterprise focussed on supporting small businesses and community projects in the Scottish islands.
Tis’ the season to get cosy! Finally there are no reasons not to sit down, cosy up and relax when you get in from fresh beach walks in beautiful autumn light. We have put together ALL that you need to make the most of the darker nights the cosiest season of them all!
Maria Rowan, Rowanberry Bute designs and sells knitwear accessories and lives and works in the beautiful island of Bute. She specialises in gorgeous hats, socks and gloves. We spoke to her about what inspires her to create such lovely products and what aspects of island life mean the most to her.
Bute is a constant source of inspiration and I walk for miles and miles around Bute with my spaniel. Many of her ideas come to me during these peaceful moments – the natural colours are so inspiring. The scenery also provides the perfect backdrop for product photography too.
Maria loves using locally sourced wool, and from other islands too. ‘That way we are helping one another too. I love vibrant colours and would like to dye my own yarn using local plants’. It will be so wonderful to see what beautiful colours she can create from the abundance of natural resources which can be found around Bute.
One of the biggest challenges for Maria has been having the self confidence to believe Rowanberry Bute and her work is good enough and putting it out there on social media and platforms such as isle20 – I think we can agree it most certainly is! Until recently Maria worked as an Art Therapist and now runs her small hobby business as well as enjoying retirement.
Finally we asked Maria what being an islander meant to her – “It’s the peace and quality of life I cherish. I love being surrounded by the sea and it has been a blessing in the couple of years especially.”
For the latest Meet the Islander blog we have travelled to the Isle of Colonsay in the Inner Hebrides to meet Rosalind Jewell.
Rosalind is an artist who specialises in paintings of landscapes, places of interest, as well as greetings cards and postcards she also does glass engraving.
A Sense of People and Place
We asked Rosalind about things that inspire her and what plans and projects she has in the pipeline. Rosalind finds inspiration from the natural landscape and a sense of people and place. If you have ever had the pleasure of visiting Colonsay you can understand where that inspiration comes from.
Rosalind’s plans include developing a series of paintings of well known and remote places in Colonsay and Oransay. These are sure to be fantastic. Rosalind’s painting really evokes a sense and feeling of island life.
The last two years have been a challenge as Rosalind tried to keep a thread of creativity alive throughout the lockdowns whilst expecting a baby. Well done Rosalind and congratulations!
As well as working as an artist Rosalind, like many islanders combines this with many roles. She is a mum, a Healthcare Assistant for the NHS and also as a Development Officer for the island’s community development company.
Living Life to the Full
I asked Rosalind what being an islander meant to her – being an islander to Rosalind is ‘to live in a way that embraces life fully and in a way that contributes to the progress and sustainability of the island’.
Sounds like a great way to embrace life and live island life to the full to us!
She would love to visit Shetland and Orkney someday. To explore these archipelagos and learn about the culture and history of these islands. These islands have so many similarities as well as many differences to the Inner Hebrides.
To see more of Rosalind wonderful art visit her isle20 shop by clicking HERE.
What makes a great run?…….How about sandy beaches, blue skies and an unspoilt landscape? Tiree Ultramarathon offers ALL of that and it also helps that it’s pretty flat too!
This year’s Tiree Ultramarathon takes place on Sunday 4th September. 35 miles of stunning Hebridean scenery and I’m fairly sure some good times after you’ve reached the finish line too.
Ultra, 10k or Half Marathon
The Tiree Ultramarathon is fully subscribed for this year, but keep your eye out on their Facebook group page for cancellations. What more motivation do you need to start training for next year than the thought of visiting one of the loveliest islands in the Inner Hebrides? If the Ultramarathon is a bit too much for you, there’s always the Tiree 10k and Half Marathon which are taking place on the 29th April 2023 – you could think of that as the warm up event!
Tiree Fitness Merchandise
On isle20 you can buy Tiree Ultramarathon hoodies and other merchandise. If you are taking part this year, be sure to buy your hoodie on isle20 and arrange for collection on the day! Visit the Tiree Fitness isle20 Shop HERE
A True Community Event
The event is a massive community effort and wouldn’t be possible with the army of volunteers who make the event possible. Like all good island events it’s the people who make it happen! The event is also sponsored by Tiree Distillery who make the delicious Tyree Gin on the island, a welcome celebratory tipple for when you complete the route! Here are some previous winners with their medals and Tyree Gin! You can buy Tyree Gin by clicking HERE.
So, have we manage to convince you to dust off your running shoes for next year’s Ultra, Half or 10k? In that case you might be looking for accommodation too? If so, check out isleholiday for holiday accommodation.
If you don’t already know, isleHoliday is the ethical alternative holiday booking site for the Scottish islands, including some gorgeous properties in Tiree.
We use cookies on our website to give you the most relevant experience by remembering your preferences and repeat visits. By clicking “Accept”, you consent to the use of ALL the cookies.
This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these cookies, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website. We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent. You also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. But opting out of some of these cookies may have an effect on your browsing experience.
Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. This category only includes cookies that ensures basic functionalities and security features of the website. These cookies do not store any personal information.
Any cookies that may not be particularly necessary for the website to function and is used specifically to collect user personal data via analytics, ads, other embedded contents are termed as non-necessary cookies. It is mandatory to procure user consent prior to running these cookies on your website.
