Yorkneyites - Getting there

The sea and the sky were indistinguishable behind an undifferentiated grey mist. We could see a harbour wall, and some building shapes loomed nearby, so we assumed we had arrived. At least the boat was keeping more or less still: unlike during the night. We had left Aberdeen on a fine, sunny evening and sat on deck watching the sun set, late by our southern standards. As darkness fell, it got colder and we begged cabins from the steward although we hadn't booked any. Suddenly in the middle of the night the boat started to move violently, shuddering up and down. Even to hardened cross-Channel travellers a sea this rough was a total shock to the system! As in so many details of this expedition we had not been very well prepared. We learnt quickly.

The journey proper had begun 24 hours earlier - not including personal travelling times from various homes back to York - on the northbound platform at York railway station early one morning in July 1969. We were a fairly average group of students laden down with rucksacks, sleeping bags and other personal paraphernalia. Our destination was the Orkney Isles where we were going to continue an archaeological excavation begun the previous year by York students - not students of archaeology, but English students. The dig, we had been told to tell our local authorities who were funding us, constituted an integral part of the Germanic Literature course taught by Sid Bradley. As the train drew into the station, Sid finally joined our group unencumbered by luggage, and we realised for the first time that he was not accompanying us. As he would have been the only member of our group who had done this fairly complex journey before, we were somewhat alarmed at the prospect of setting off into the unknown. I did personally have an advantage: I had done all the correspondence for Sid arranging the ferry tickets, and our accommodation and transport in the Islands. I thought he had recognised my obvious management skills, now the truth dawned on me: in those days I was Sue Bradley (no relation!) and hence could sign everything and it would be assumed he had done all the work! He'd opted out earlier than we thought. (S.B. has right of reply - and denies everything!)

Armed only with the theory we set out northwards, uneventfully reaching Aberdeen in the afternoon. Then we had to find the ferry: the St Ninian was moored at Jamieson's Quay which turned out to be about two miles away from the railway station, and about half a mile long - no fun with all our luggage. It was a calm and beautiful evening, and we were going for a gentle boat ride along the Scottish Coast. Seasick? Not us! Then in the middle of the night the Pentland Firth happened. This is the channel of water that separates Orkney from Scotland, it is about 12 miles wide and you can see across it. However the full force of the Atlantic is squeezed through this gap and it is - we now know - one of the roughest stretches around the British Isles. It wasn't much calmer as the boat went up the east coast of the Orkney mainland, finally turning west and then south to the harbour in Kirkwall in thick fog. The Islands' weather can be very unusual - we have crossed the Pentland Firth in galeforce fog on more than one occasion.

The History of the Dig

In 1968 a group of English students from York University made the journey north to Orkney to start excavating Mr Delday's chicken run at Newark in Deerness. A scientist from the Natural History Museum, called Sam Berry had been pursuing butterflies along the beach at Newark when he had spotted human bones exposed in the eroding cliff face. Noting no existing cemetery he assumed the bones to be ancient, and therefore of interest to a colleague of his, Don Brothwell. They would need labourers to dig out these bones, clean them up and label them, and Sid Bradley offered some students. And so, the Dig, the Yorkneyite phenomenon and a remaining obsession with the Islands was born.

Only one of the students who went in 1968 ever returned to the islands as a digger, which was strange as that year they enjoyed unusually fine, warm and calm weather - a fact that did nothing to prepare us for the worst that 1969 threw at us. We thrived on adversity: arriving with sunhats and thin sleeping bags we raided Kirkwall for woolly jumpers, waterproofs and blankets. The wind shredded the plastic sheeting put up to keep the horizontal rain off of the excavations. We baled out graves before delicately removing the bones. We squatted behind drystone walls holding mugs of tea and digestive biscuits, and other drystone walls for other functions. We froze and we got soaked, and the next year we went back for more with reinforcements, and the next, and the next ... In fact some of us still return on a regular basis, not to dig up Mr Delday's chicken run of course, but because the Islands have a habit of getting under your skin.

The second wave - 1969

York University's second wave of diggers had arrived. The rising sun melted the mist and Kirkwall was revealed to be a small, quiet town with a large and impressive Cathedral. This made our next objective easier: the Deerness bus driven by Mr Laughton went from outside the Cathedral at 8.40am. St Magnus' Cathedral was built by the builders of Durham in a bright red sandstone with a green spire - unmissable. The bus that turned up was from a much earlier era, but we were soon to realise that Orkney then was very unlike the England we came from.

The journey to Deerness took about an hour as with all rural bus routes, the idea is to see and pick up as many people as possible. Though as this was the 'commuter bus' returning to its garage after ferrying East Mainland people into Kirkwall for work or shopping we were the only ones on it. Mr Laughton turned out to be a great source of information and helped us with the next stage of the journey too. In Deerness we were using the abandoned primary school as our lodgings, but we had to contact a Mr Skea at Stembuster to collect the key. We were pointed in the right direction and the building was unlocked.

We did not stay in luxury. One classroom was the girls' room, the other was the boys'. Sleeping bags were unfurled on the floor, or if you preferred on a table. There were two small washbasins in the entrance hall by the front door, one indoor toilet (the teacher's presumably), and out the back on the other side of the playground, a row of very small toilets. There was a good-sized kitchen with a large table and benches, and a new big cooker - one of the things I had arranged pp Sid.

We still waited on one thing: the arrival of Don Brothwell who was to lead the dig. He was due the next day, so we spent the rest of the first day exploring our surroundings: locating where to buy food - the Deerness Co-op, and the site of the dig itself.

So let me introduce us all: Alan Fleck, Mary Maddock, Angela Crossland, Deborah Leah, Celia Richardson, Joyce Hill (postgrad. and late arrival), Tony Hopkins, Sue Bradley (your author).

 Click on the images to enlarge

Diggers 1969: Rachel, Alan Fleck, Sue Bradley, Tony Hopkins, Don Brothwell, Mary Maddock, Deborah Leah, Celia Richardson

The tea tent - the design became more robust each year with experience!

Don tackles a doorstep as we shelter for lunch at Yesnaby on a day off from digging.
From the back: Joyce Hill, Rachel, Don Brothwell and Angela Crossland

Deerness School - home from home

1970 - Albert our van is unceremoniously hoisted aboard the St. Ola. The next item of cargo to be swung into the hold was a bullock in a crate - now alarmingly reminiscent of feeding the velociraptors in Jurassic Park - especially as the crate was hoisted back up empty. We did however have a few moments of anxiety that an unrestrained bullock lunging around in the hold might damage our van's already compromised bodywork!

The Pictish bone comb, and the coins that we found along with the hundreds of skeletons.