about writing and life and God

Day Twelve: John O’Groats

on June 25, 2015

There is a certain mystique about far away places. In our own small island of Britain, Land’s End and John O’Groats entice with promise – something about extremes, a sense of the end of the known world. I’ve been to both Land’s End and John O’Groats, but for me, only John O’Groats fulfils that promise.

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A long narrow road winds between croft-scattered fields and peaty moorland where fluffy white bog cotton blows in the wind. And then, suddenly the road tops a rise. There is a straggle of houses, hotel, car park, tiny harbour – and the end of the British mainland. Cold and blue-grey the Pentland Firth laps on rocks and white sand.

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Close enough almost to touch is Stroma – the island in the stream – now populated only by sheep. And beyond, island upon island, rocky-coasted and hummocky. Orkney.

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My sister and I both love this place so even though it was very cold we wandered around so I could take photographs (and have mine taken).

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And then my day was brightened even more when the owner of two of the shops that serve the thriving tourist trade bought in copies of my novel, When the Boats Come Home. And even nicer, the teashop welcomed us into the warm with tea and a yummy chocolate brownie!

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