Fair Isle by Simon Heptinstall
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As I took off from Shetland, heading south into the mist, I began to wonder whether Fair Isle is a real place… or somewhere invented by Marks and Spencers’ marketing department.
After a 25-minute flight, I soon found it was real enough – in fact it’s Britain’s most remote inhabited island. But it’s so small (three miles by one) and so awkwardly positioned, (alone at the top of the North Sea, midway between the Shetlands and Orkneys), it’s often omitted altogether from UK atlases and maps.
Getting there can take as long as getting to Australia… and unfortunately can cost as much too. First you have to get to Scotland, then Shetland, then continue, dependant on the day, season and weather, by either plane or boat.
I had to transfer from Shetland’s ‘main’ airport at Sumburgh on the southern tip of the island to the tiny airfield at Tingwall just west of Lerwick. In such a tiny bumpy, eight-seater Islander aircraft it is a memorable experience, especially if you sit next to chirpy pilot Eddie Watt who points out sights like his house and boat along the way. He even offered to swoop down to let me take pictures.
The alternative is The Good Shepherd, the chunky little mail boat skippered by Fair Islander’s Special Constable Jimmy Stout, which plies to and from Sumburgh or Lerwick up to three times a week. That costs just £2.60 and takes two-and-a-half or four-and-a-half hours. The 25 miles of open sea between Sumburgh Head and Fair Isle is notoriously choppy and after I watched green-faced passengers being helped off by crewmen I decided on the flight.
Fog frequently means the flights are cancelled, while storms frequently mean the boat is cancelled. So sometimes the island is simply cut off altogether.
It seems a marvelous quirk of history that such a tiny remote place has been heard of the world over. There are just 70 inhabitants but it’s an internationally-recognised brand name. The islander’s traditional knitting style is more famous than the treeless chunk of grassy rock itself.
The island women developed the intricate patterned style over hundreds of years. Some say it was influenced by the crew of a wrecked Spanish Armada ship in 1588, others by passing Baltic fishermen. Whatever, Fair Isle knitwear involves a distinctive series of knitted shapes including island icons like anchors, ram’s horns, ferns and flowers.
Originally the colours came from combining the variations in sheep’s wool – white, grey, black, brown, red, ochre – with some natural plant dyes like lichen. You may associate Fair Isle jumpers with the dreadful things Ronnie Corbett used to wear on his TV Christmas specials. Classic Fair Isle has a more delicate pattern and subtle colours.
The trouble for the island’s hardy band of knitters is anyone can sell a ‘Fair Isle’ style sweater. Fair Isle has become a generic term for any brightly coloured jumper. There’s no quality control - unless you see the extra words ‘made in Fair Isle’. Only then are you getting the real genuine thing. And even this confirmed fleece-wearer found that when you see the real Fair Isle knits up close, handknitted using ancient traditional patterns and local sheep’s wool, they are definitely desirable quality items.
The trouble is to actually see them before buying you’ve got to trek to Fair Isle. There’s no shop anywhere that sells the genuine thing. You can buy them at one of the knitters’ houses or by mail order from Linda Grieve in the big old house on the island. When an occasional cruise ship passes the island, the knitters put on a small display in the village hall hoping to sell to visiting passengers. As a solo tourist I had to call round to see Jimmy Stout’s wife Florrie. She keeps the world’s unsold stock of genuine Fair Isle knitwear in a cupboard in her spare room.
It’s an alarmingly small time operation for such a massive brand name. There are four part-time knitters working in their croft houses across the island using hand frames, which are halfway between needles and industrial machines. Five other women help with finishing, washing and admin. They only produce about 100 sweaters a year.
But they cost over £100 a time so it’s a handy income in a community where there is not a single ordinary 9-5 job. And the islanders are justifiably proud of their knitwear heritage.
There’s a wonderfully home-made museum in an old stone school house with some fantastic examples of the knitting through the centuries and period advertising material, including a 1920s model trying to look seductive in a bizarre Fair Isle knitted hat. There’s also a workmanlike letter from the leader of an Antarctic expedition ordering 100 jerseys in 1902 and a photo of Edward VIII playing golf in one.
Apart from the famous knitwear, Fair Isle is a wonderful slice of unspoilt island existence. Amid the swooping green slopes and plunging dark cliffs, there are 70 people, 1,000 sheep and 150,000 seabirds, some of which are very rare. That explains the Fair Isle bird observatory, which is evidently as famous as the island’s knitting in the birdwatching world. I’m no ornithologist but Bill Oddie’s been there so I know it must be special. Sometimes passionate and wealthy birders charter planes to rush to Fair Isle to spot an extremely rare species that has just blown in from the Arctic.
There certainly seem to be millions of seabirds everywhere. The Observatory staff take visitors on a fantastic cliff walk to sit among the puffin colony and be terrifyingly dive-bombed by territorial skuas.
The observatory doubles as the island’s hotel, (sleeping 33), café and bar. It’s a bit like a primary school inside but everyone is extremely friendly and they don’t make you feel like a bird ignoramus. Other options are three tiny B&Bs and a guesthouse. Surprisingly I was really busy while I was there. It takes two days to walk the island’s coastline, a spectacular series of cliffs and bays. There are two lighthouses, a quirky shop, harbours and beaches. I even found myself joining in helping to unload supplies from the mail boat.
As well as the knitters there are dozens of craftspeople desperate to show you what they make, from violins to stained-glass. I found that usually meant having a cup of tea in their crofts and talking about the weather all afternoon. Remote and barren the island may be, but it was as friendly and sociable a destination as I’ve ever visited. Fair Isle isn’t strong enough… They should have called it Excellent Isle.