Diary

Kathleen Jamie

A tractor was lumbering towards me, so I pulled into a passing place. It was silage-cutting time on Westray, one of the most northerly islands of Orkney. The driver waved, but I stayed put after he’d passed. The morning cloud was lifting, and the passing place was on the crest of a hill giving views over much of the island’s north side. A cruise liner was anchored out in the bay, a small one, nothing like the vast multi-storey jobs that arrive at Kirkwall during the summer, landing thousands of passengers into its narrow streets.

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