A Street in Stromness on the Orkney Mainland

George Mackay Brown (1921-1996) spent most of his life in Stromness, Orkney, which he always called by its original Norse name of Hamnavoe. If you want to go to the Orkneys, either you fly to the small airport at Kirkwall from Aberdeen or Wick; or you take the ferry from Scrabster (just west of Thurso) to Stromness.

I have been to Orkney twice. The first time, I stayed in Stromness at the house of an old couple named the Linklaters. Dinner consisted of potatoes prepared two or three different ways. At that time, I met George Mackay Brown after I stepped outside from the local Stromness bookstore bearing several books by him.

Here is a poem about seven men who, years ago, went to the market in Hamnavoe and what happened to them.

Hamnavoe Market

They drove to the market with ringing pockets.

Folster found a girl
Who put wounds on his face and throat.
Small and diagonal, like red doves.

Johnston stood beside the barrel.
All day he stood there.
He awoke in a ditch, his mouth full of ashes.

Grieve bought a balloon and a goldfish.
He swung through the air.
He fired shotguns, tolled pennies, ate sweet fog from a stick.

Heddle was at the market also.
I know nothing of his activities.
He is and always was a quiet man.

Garson went three rounds with a negro boxer,
And received thirty shillings,
Much applause, and an eye loaded with thunder.

Where did they find Flett?
They found him in a blazing circle,
All flame and blood, a new Salvationist.

A gypsy saw in the hand of Halcro
Great strolling herds, harvests, a proud woman.
He wintered in the poorhouse.

They drove home from the Market under the stars
Except for Johnston,
Who lay in a ditch, his mouth full of dying fires.