AS I WALK along the shore, with a borrowed dog at my side, my two seal friends swim up and down in tandem with us. It's like synchronised swimming. They are curious, looking from a safe distance at a man and a springer spaniel called Charlie. I sing to the seals, and they seem to like it. I'll try out the mouth-organ with them some time.
I am back on my favourite Orkney island, Westray. It's the place I often retreat to when I'm under pressure on a writing project. Some years back, for instance, when I had to complete a script for a film about St Magnus inside a week, I put the laptop on my back and headed for Westray. By the end of the week it was done. There is something in the air up here.
I am living in the beautifully-restored west manse. It's the home of my friends William and Sandy McEwan, who carried out the award-winning restoration. A couple of years ago, broadcaster Lesley Riddoch and I led the first residential weekend writers’ workshop in this building. It turned out to be a fantastic venue for the event. Cookery and other workshops are now held there as well.
I'm here to work on a book about George Mackay Brown's spiritual journey. I'm tracing the Orcadian writer's battle with tuberculosis – at a time when it was a killer disease – and also his struggles with depression.
I'm also tracking his fascinating religious journey from Presbyterianism to Roman Catholicism.
I'm enjoying reading and re-reading GMB’s poems, short stories and novels, and seeing how his spiritual development is reflected in writing of great quality. Currently, I am working on chapter 15, out of a total of 17. I'm here to push on towards my target of completing the first draft of the book by the end of this month.
Also here is my good friend Maxwell MacLeod. Some years ago, I wrote the biography of his father, Lord George MacLeod of Fuinary. Now, Maxwell is writing his own book. Titled Rowing Home, it's the story of his journey by rowing boat through the Western Isles, based on some journeys made by his ancestors. There are six moderators of the Kirk in his family story.
We both work hard on our texts in separate parts of the building during the day and, after the evening meal, we compare notes over a dram or two.
In between sessions during the day, I walk Charlie and commune with the seals. Then it's back to the manse cottage and more work. Yes, it's hard work. Just because you're not wearing dungarees it doesn't mean that you're not working.
Orcadians are often asked by tourists if they find it hard living “so far away”. They will usually reply that it must be difficult living in Edinburgh or Glasgow as they are so far away from Orkney.
It all depends where you are starting from. On many maps, Orkney is placed inside a box off the radar screen, thus contributing to the myth of inaccessibility. It's really quite easy to get to Scotland’s isles.
Scotland needs its islands. On a pragmatic level, they are Scotland's “lungs”, providing fresh air and peaceful living for stressed urban dwellers.
Westray’s white beaches are clean, and swimming is a delight for those mad enough to risk cardiac arrest by plunging into freezing seas.
Boasting a population of nearly 600, the island has its own community school which serves pupils from age five to 15. But like so many Scottish islands, Westray is facing the prospect of depopulation. It’s a pity the seals don’t go to school. Quite a number of young people would like to return, after spells away. But unless the work is there, they cannot do that.
The Westray community’s development trust is supportive of local businesses, and seeks to attract new forms of commercial life to the island. With wind and tide power to spare, they have a key role to play in Scotland's search for renewable energy.
Every time I visit Westray I find something different. This time it's a new gallery and tearoom which is in a class of its own. It's called the Wheeling Steen, which is Old Norse for “resting stone”.
There is an interesting story behind the project. Bucklesberry, a local croft house with a chimney, was always called the cabin, or “kaybeen” in the local dialect. The curve in the ceiling was pointed out to Edwin Rendall, a Westray farmer whose forebears had lived in the island for many generations. He was told he was sitting in the deck cabin of a sailing ship which had been shipwrecked nearby in 1879.
Edwin married Elaine in 1983, and the cabin, with an extension, became their home. They took space at a car boot sale in the early 1990s. Edwin sold his framed photographs, and Elaine brought some of her home baking.
This was the beginning of the Wheeling Steen Gallery, which opened in 1995.
What began as a hobby developed into a family business. Edwin decided to create a new gallery and tearoom, and he determined to incorporate the piece of maritime history into the new building. Self-taught, Edwin, and his son, Norman, designed and built the gallery over a three-year period and it opened in November 2008. It is a beautiful, restful space.
Edwin and his daughter, Rosemary, are excellent photographers, and the framed prints of Westray scenes are outstanding. Not only that, Edwin, who is an entirely unpretentious man, is something of a poet. His gift for fresh and vivid words can be seen in the poems which are set alongside some of the photographs.
Rosemary's crafts are a delight, and Elaine's home bakes are delicious. Norman runs the family farm.
It's good to see such a classy modern enterprise, envisaged, designed, built and run by a long-standing local family.
I must go now and walk along the beach, before getting back to work. Where’s Charlie? The seals are waiting.