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A Day on Papa Westray

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We left the plane and watched the cargo being unloaded, mostly a variety of groceries, some hardware and a case of rum. A light rain began to fall. The rum looked very good.

The plane took off again. It would return for us in 7 hours. When the two cargo handlers loaded their truck they left too. There was nothing in sight other than some farm buildings and livestock in the distance... that and our small now-deserted terminal building.

So, it was just us and the cows. And it turned out to be a gray, drizzly, chilly ...wonderful day. We found ourselves in a completely new environment, at the verge of a different time and seemingly far away from just about everything. The residents call their island Papay and they love it.

Our first destination was up the road to St. Boniface Church. There's been a church on this site since the 8th century, when Papa Westray was a thriving Pictish farming and fishing community.

Just one hundred years ago, the census on Papa Westray listed nearly 400 people. The current population is 70 but efforts are being made to encourage more people to join the small but thriving community.

At left, a sign indicating a place on the one-lane road where a car can pull over to let another pass. Since there are only a handful of cars and trucks on the island, traffic control is not a major problem. The fuzzy stuff on the fence is sheep wool.

The interior of the church has been restored by the local historical society. The main room is about 15 x 25 feet. Note the enclosed communion table at upper right and the private pew at left. The simplicity is authentic. These were not people to waste money or attention on mere decorations.

We noticed that husbands and wives often had different last names engraved on the stones; we later found out it was not customary for women to completely abandon their maiden names at marriage back then. The text of the stone at left is an example as well as telling a story of life in those days.

The interior of the church was a welcome refuge from the rain that stopped and started through our whole visit. The churchyard held the remains of many local families; the same surnames were still prevalent in the local newspapers when we visited. Although many of the stones look ancient, the oldest are only about 150 years old; conditions are harsh this close to the sea.

A view of the back of the church with its extensive grave stones. Just past the stone wall behind the church is the shore of the North Sea.	Inside the front door. About five feet high with a solid stone lintel.	The terrain just outside the church -- layers of black volcanic rock being slowly worn away by the sea. At one time the church's pastor had to approach the church walking along here, staying below the high-tide line. That was because the local laird (lord) was of a different faith and wouldn't let the pastor set foot on his land!

Regina's favorite picture from the trip. The cows' rough coats make them well-equipped for the harsh climate.

Some equally hardy horses. When we approached they came trotting over, probably hoping for a treat.

Walls such as this were to be found all over the island. They are incredibly well-made. One can hardly imagine the time involved in building them.

More pictures from our walk. The stone pillars at left are probably just a handy way to make the land suitable for plowing, yet they too are neatly made. The structure in the center is a stile -- a word almost never used in modern-day America, but a perfectly practical way of getting over a fence. The roof at right is that of a small cottage. On closer inspection we realized that the "shingles" are actually large slabs of stone, joined by concrete.


At left is the Holland Farm. It includes an unattended private museum of housewares and farm implements. The 1850 census listed 9 children in the Holland family. This was their home! Note the double-trees hanging on the wall. The one in the middle is unusual. It appears to have been configured to yoke two small horses with, perhaps, a mule or an ox. It would be interesting to see one man control such a team. At right, we came across an abandoned steamroller. On the ground nearby we found a blown piston on the ground. The history is easy to imagine. The grand old machine broke down, the blown piston was discovered and with that all hope was gone. Where, after all, would you go to find a new piston for a vintage steam engine? And getting this huge machine off the island may have been too expensive to consider.		A memorial to Papa Westray's "Great War" dead is augmented by a plaque remembering those, apparently, of one family lost in the next war. The text reads:

When we started to get hungry, Ron asked in the local store (open only a few hours after our plane came in with fresh provisions) where we might find a restaurant. This was it. We think it may have been the only one on the island. And this was its only table. It is part of a bed and breakfast run by a writer named Jim Hewittson and his wife. Lunch was simple and very good, a hearty soup, homemade breads, jam and butter... with tea, of course. And we enjoyed an interesting conversation with Jim. A bad rain squall blew in while we enjoyed lunch, drumming at the window -- and was gone again by the time we left.

Traces of Papa Westray's past appeared at almost every turn. Ruins of meticulously built out-buildings on long-abandoned farms, most made of native stone, are a common sight. In many cases we had no clue what their purpose may have been.