At the end of the island

On the way to John O’Groats we stopped off at Castle of Mey (pronounced Meh). The Queen Mother bought it as a pile of stones in 1952, as a way of getting over losing her hubby. She paid £100 and then spent her own money on doing a ”Phoenix”. As castles go, it is small and intimate, and apparently even at the age of 101 she was skipping up and down the stone staircases. She left it to a new purpose built trust. So, Uncle Meh, it might be difficult to take ownership.

Next was John O’Groats, not nearly as tacky as some would have you believe. Best was the fog, so we could see nothing of The Orkneys, just eight miles away. But we could see the breakdown of stereotypes, as visitors from all over the world helped take snapshots of each other in front of the signpost. This included Asian families of four, with all three females mostly obscured by hoods, taking photos of a group of four aged Hell’s Angels with the brightest, whitest motorcycle boots you ever did see; a just arrived, ever so excited single cyclist kit in all the lycra etc, and cyclist shoes so he could hardly walk, having his photo taken by a fat father of one child and three ankle snapping doglets; three motorcyclists taking photos of their motorcycles, without riders. A gentle, incessant stream of selfies interspersed with the extra cameramen made for a highly entertaining hour.

Then on to Wick, a sad tale of a town with millions currently being spent on regenerating the three harbours. Why three you clamour: from the 1890s to about 1950, Wick was the principal base for herring fishing in the …… world. Yep, world. At its prime, it had 1,100 trawlers operating out of its harbours, with over 3,000 land support gutters, packers and shippers.

Inevitably, the herring stock was decimated and what was left moved north, to Icelandic waters. Shame we didn’t start taking account of responsible fishing practice back then. The best part of Wick is now the fabulous Wick Heritage Museum, which tells the story of its herring rise and fall; the pinnacle of the exhibition is The Johnston Collection, three generations of family photographers whose output is so atmospheric. Yep, who’s in the museum business now …..

The East Coast