It was - briefly. Next morning dawned bright and fair, with light winds, although there was a bit of cloud cover coming and going. I sat at my window, enjoying a cup of tea with my sister Mary, who was one of the liaison officers for the Colombian barque "Gloria", watching her ship picking up the pilot off the Bressay Light and making her elegant way in towards the harbour. Mary went off to perform her diplomatic duties, and I was left to try concentrating on doing a day's work. Some hope! I kept stopping to look seaward, as more and more of these beautiful ships approached. The almost indefinably-rigged "Pelican of London", the Polish barquentine "Pogoria" and the Dutch topsail schooner "Gulden Leeuw" arrived during the morning, followed by the "Lord Nelson", "Dar Mlodziezy" and "Alexander von Humboldt" in the afternoon. Other smaller, less easily identifiable, ships were also making their appearance. That was a happy day for me, with my greedy eyes almost getting their fill from what was before them.
The next day, Thursday, was the first of three consecutive ones for which I'd booked a stall to sell my arty wares. My brother Peter had agreed to help me transport my goods and display units down to the Toll Clock Centre in a car he had hired for his holiday here. I am very grateful to him for his help, which speeded this process up, as well as saving me a taxi fare. The wind was freshening from the north, although otherwise the weather was still quite pleasant, dry and bright. Most of the participating tall ships had arrived by midday, although it was early evening before the Norwegian barque "Statsraad Lehmkuhl" arrived at her allocated berth at Shearer's Pier. The sound of rock and roll music could be heard from the stage at Holmsgarth. Shetland had started to boogie, and my brother caught the ferry south that evening with the sounds of the party ringing in his ears. The view of the harbour from the ferry would have been spectacular too.
I had arranged to leave my display units at the centre for the next couple of nights (at my own risk, of course), so that I only had my bags of cards and prints to transport back and forth each day. I was glad of this facility as, with my brother gone, lugging all that stuff up and down my stairs each day would have been a pain - literally. I had also arranged for my friends Lynne and Malcolm to look after the stall for a few hours on Friday, while I went out to Whiteness to pay my usual visit to my mother and see that she was OK for the weekend. By evening the wind had risen to near gale force, from a northerly direction, although it was still dry and quite bright, and it bore the sound of the Levellers all over town, from the Holmsgarth stage, that evening.
Saturday dawned dry, and still reasonably bright, but the strong winds were becoming an issue. With no improvement forecast for Sunday, the decision was made to postpone the departure of the ships (which had been previously scheduled for Sunday) until the following day when winds were expected to ease. My last day at the Toll Clock Centre was a busy one, and by close of business, I had far exceeded my notional target figure for the three days takings - it had certainly been a worthwhile venture for me. I had met many old friends, including one with whom I'd done business only online, and made many new ones. I had added Slovenia to the list of European countries in which my artwork is owned. As Captian Gabriel Perez of the Colobian barque "Gloria" was presented with one of my prints as a souvenir of his Lerwick visit, my artwork is now in every continent of the world!
I am grateful for the help of Jim Wilson of Allied Taxis in getting my display units and remaining stock of cards and prints back upstairs to my flat after my successful three days at the Toll Clock Centre. There, on the news, on Saturday evening, I first heard of a shocking event which had taken place near Oslo, Norway, in which a gunman had gone on a killing spree of youngsters at an island camp......
That evening, lying in bed, I was listening to the gale-borne sound of Bjorn Again on the Holmsgarth stage. This was interrupted, at midnight, by the explosions of the firework display, after which there was a brief pause before the ships' sirens began a symphony of their own. Lerwick was still in party mode.
I had hoped to go for a walk around the harbour with my camera next day, but this notion was soon eliminated from my plans by the weather - driving rain borne on a north-westerly gale. There would be no point in taking a camera out of its case in such conditions, which only eased late in the day. Sounds of music, presumably hastily-arranged gigs by local artistes (of whom there are many!) were still to be heard on the wind, as my sister Thelma and I went out to see our mother at Whiteness in the afternoon. She was well, although missing her summer visitors (first my sister Angela and her husband Nigel, then my brother) terribly.
The last farewell was to my friends Lynne and Malcolm, to whom must go my last and most deeply-felt expression of gratitude. I had a few lagers with them on Monday evening, and they departed on the Tuesday night ferry on the first leg of their journey back to Tyneside. They had three of my paintings with them, and they had given up some of their own holiday time to look after my stall on the Friday while I attended to other essential matters elsewhere.
Now I look at the empty Lerwick quaysides, and wonder if they will be graced by such lovely ships again in my lifetime. Who knows? We Shetlanders certainly know how to organise and enjoy a good party, regardless of prevailing weather conditions. It must surely happen again.
