I’m delighted to announce that from January 2024, I am a weekly columnist in the Scottish National!
I’ll be in the Seven Days section every Sunday – or you can find a list of my latest articles here.
I’m delighted to announce that from January 2024, I am a weekly columnist in the Scottish National!
I’ll be in the Seven Days section every Sunday – or you can find a list of my latest articles here.
The Scottish National, 31 Dec 2023
It’s been quite the year in the Scottish islands – with highs and lows, intrigue, victims, and heroes, it would give the latest series of Shetland a run for its money.
The Scottish National, 24 Dec 2023
The prospect of Scottish Island Christmas Chaos™ began to creep towards us just under a fortnight ago when the bad weather we had all been tracking on a variety of forecasting apps showed no signs of fading away.
The Scottish National, 22 Oct 2023
If the mood ever takes you to become the chair of an island development trust, can I recommend that you seriously consider something more relaxing and less fraught, like bomb disposal or crocodile training? I hear that those roles are also paid positions.
I’m only partly joking…
The Scottish National, 15 Oct 2023
“Sustainable” is a word which is very much in vogue. Everything has to be sustainable, we’re told. Crofting must be sustainable, economies must be sustainable, business must be sustainable. The phrase “Sustainable Tourism” is being bandied about with increasing regularity. Could that be a solution facing the economies of our tourist destinations? Well, that depends entirely on the definition of sustainable, and the focus of that sustainability.
The Scottish National, 1 Oct 2023
If you are in a city, then living in what you consider to be a remote location may be your holy grail. But if you are “remote” in the sense that you live a long way from an urban centre, are you actually remote? Opinions differ and not least about the word itself.
The Scottish National, Sunday 24 September
We cannot keep burying our heads in the sand, and hoping that Gaelic will be saved by some form of magical thinking and yet another round of research.
If Gaelic is to be “saved” in any meaningful way, we need a radical change in how we approach it, and that change has to start in the Gaidhealtachd itself – not by creating new speakers – but by inspiring those of us who already speak it.
Like swallows in the sky
Patience and persistence fly
Baling summer’s scent to hay
Autumn’s chill is on the way
Like swallows in the sky
Patience and persistence fly
Wisdom, wit, a way of being
In the wind I hear them say,
Tomorrow is another day.
Cutting through the waves
Patience and persistence sail
Tacking onwards through the storm
Sensing when the tide will turn
With a clear and knowing eye
Patience and persistence watch
Seeing far beyond the now
History furrowed on each brow
Rich in lifetime’s learning
Patience and persistence teach
Sowing seeds of future yield
Theirs an ever fertile field
Like swallows in the sky
Patience and persistence fly
Baling summer’s scent to hay
Autumn’s chill is on the way
Like swallows in the sky
Patience and persistence fly
Wisdom, wit, a way of being
In the wind I hear them say,
Tomorrow is another day.
Tomorrow is another day.
© Rhoda Meek
The Scottish National, Thursday 14 September
I push the point because I firmly believe that when a living place becomes something you are “on”, or even worse, “at”, that place becomes an object. It is reduced to a mere commodity. And that is not how our islands should be seen. It is not how anyone’s home should be seen.
The Scottish National, Saturday 26 August
As my grandfather was apparently wont to say, in Gaelic: “Cha toir boidhchead bruich air poit.” Beauty will not boil a pot. To put it bluntly, you cannot eat the view.
Nowhere is that clearer right now than in Scotland’s beauty spots.
You’ll glimpse her on the tube
Late – but on her way
You’ll hear her in the wind
A laugh as clear as day
You’ll know her in a meal
Prepared and shared with friends
You’ll see her in the surf
A curl of smiling spray
© Rhoda Meek
The Scottish National, Sunday 30 July
“Sniping in the eyes of visitors. A plea for understanding in the eyes of many local residents. Between them is a gulf a motorhome could fill.”
Barely visible now
Stories and song
Fragile as china
Perch precariously
On ruins.
Hands that might catch them
Lost.
© Rhoda Meek
The Scottish National, Sunday 2 July
“Beneath the picture-postcard exterior, a revolt is brewing. The reality is that removed from the glossy magazine features extolling “hidden gems” to their extensive readership, or the prime-time visual feasts, life in many of Scotland’s islands is getting increasingly difficult for resident communities.”
The Scottish National, Friday 16 June
“This problem cannot and should not be solved only by those who are worst affected.
Those with empty properties have to take some responsibility for addressing the problems their ownership creates.”
The Scottish National, Monday 5 June
“Islands and islanders are often more connected than they are given credit for and therefore, of all the words used to describe the islands, the most common and the least helpful is “remote”.
The last one
Disembarks
For the final time.
Only the memory
Of pipes in the air.
A silent welcome
From lost generations
Onwards they go
Foot by foot.
Ghosts of tradition follow
The lonely hearse.
© Rhoda Meek
The Scottish National, Sunday 14 May 2023
“The steady march of depopulation, the accelerating loss of vernacular Gaelic communities, the ever-increasing paperwork surrounding traditional crofting and the abject failure of the government to produce working ferries has created the perfect storm.
There is no trust left between those who live the daily reality of life in fragile places, and those in power who are seen to be doing no more than make it harder.”
Flip the narrative.
Communities first. Destinations second.
Islands are not empty
But homes.
Living lives make our places.
Where you see stones
We feel our history
Where you see the waves
We remember lost souls
Where you see the past
We hear our stories
Where you hear the wind
We sense the songs
Where you enjoy silence
We grieve the gone
© Rhoda Meek