Flying Sheep

Despite growing up on a sheep farm, I can’t say I’ve ever wanted to pursue a career involving animals. As a youngster my parents tried to encourage me to take an active interest in the sheep flock by giving me one of my own, a beautifully coloured North Ronaldsay ewe, which I named Sunshine. Every one of our Rollie flock, as they are called by many local folk, is unique in colour. Their coats are coloured in every possible shade of grey, brown and black. As well as her beautiful colouring, Sunshine was a particularly tame sheep, and when she gave birth at lambing time, she was happy to stand and watch as I cuddled her new-born lamb. I enjoyed watching him grow up, and when it was time to ship the lambs for sale at the auction mart in Kirkwall I was both sad to see him go and excited at the prospect of him making a tidy profit to supplement my pocket money. Before mum and dad decided to begin rearing a flock of the rare breed North Ronadalsay sheep, we had the traditional white cheviot sheep, seen all over Orkney. They are much bigger than their cousins from North Ronaldsay, and are far less hardy. They need to lamb indoors and often require quite a lot of help to give birth. As a result, just before the beginning of lambing each May, we would pack our belongings, food, bedding and fuel onto the trailer and move down to the lighthouse at the south end of Auskerry. We would set up home in what used to be one of the light keepers houses so that we were near to the sheep pens, and the lambing shed.

I always hated this arrangement. The rooms in the lighthouse are big, dark, cold and echoe. As we had no electricity, we used paraffin lamps to provide us with light but they are fiddly not very bright so the place was always dingy and filled with spooky, flickering shadows. When the weather was bad the wind would howl as it blew around the adjacent lighthouse tower and the doors and windows would whistle and rattle - a combination I found pretty scary. All of this, coupled with the fact that I was away from most of my home comforts in our cosy house at the North end of the island meant that I found it hard to settle in. I was still young enough that I didn’t like it when mum and dad had to go up the hill or across the field to the lambing shed to check on the sheep, leaving me and my younger brother Owen alone in the house, even though we could see them. I think the dread, associated with this annual month of discomfort and upheaval, made me resent the sheep as they were ultimately the reason behind it. Occasionally we would be visited by engineers from the Northern Lighthouse Board, who would often arrive on the island by helicopter. This to me was hugely exciting. From the first time I saw the bright red BO-105 chopper up close, and could smell the jet fuel from is hot exhaust I was captivated. I began to read books about helicopters, draw pictures and spend hours flying my model chopper around the steading. If I got the chance I would talk to the pilots as they waited around for the engineers to carry out their work, and I remember vividly the first time I were taken up for a trip around the island.

I’m still very interested in helicopters, and I would love to get my pilot’s licence one day. Back in June, we were paid a visit from Princess Anne, who is the patron of Scottish Lighthouses. She accompanied the NLB commissioners on their annual visit to the island, spending an hour looking around the lighthouse, climbing the tower and chatting to us. It was very exciting to have royalty on our island, and the Princess was very down to earth and easy to talk to. As well as the obvious excitement as we waited for our royal visitor, I was also thinking about exactly how she would arrive. For the last couple of years the NLB have been using an EC-135 helicopter, the modern replacement for the B0-105. This was to be my first glimpse of the new chopper, and as I stood in front of the lighthouse watching the red speck emerged through the mist, my heart began to race just as it had throughout my childhood. Eventually Mum and Dad decided there were too many complications associated with keeping the cheviot sheep on Auskerry. As well as difficulties at lambing time, they were not well suited to spending time on the beach, they quite often got stuck on their backs or in amongst the island’s many peat bogs. This would leave them prey to vicious attacks by black back gulls and bonxies. As a result, Dad bought some ewes and a tup from the native flock on North Ronaldsay and we started our own flock on Auskerry. As the numbers of Rollies grew each year, we reduced the size of the cheviot flock until all we had were the much hardier Rollies.

During my rebellious teens, I was adamant that I didn’t want to have anything to with the sheep. However, I knew that I had to pull my weight with the family chores. As a means of avoiding helping with clipping, dipping or worming I would offer to go home after the gathering was completed and cook a meal. I’d make scones and fresh cakes, or cook lunch – anything to avoid working the sheep. I think I thought I was being quite clever, but with hind sight I think everyone else was glad to have something nice on the table to look forward to when they returned from a hard day at the sheep pens. I’ll soon be returning to Auskerry for a few days - at the height of the clipping season. I will be packing my recipe books.