Coontin kin

Cousins, second cousins, third, fourth, fifth cousins, eight times removed: an intricate web of conn

This weekend the population of Fair Isle has swelled to more than double, as a ruby wedding anniversary celebration has brought family and friends to the island from all over the country.

A celebratory meal was held in the community hall on Saturday night for around 140 islanders and invited guests, who were joined later in the evening by others – work campers, bird observatory seasonal staff and guests, and anyone else who happened to be on the island – for a dance. A band came in from Shetland especially for the occasion.

Dances are among the most important social occasions in the Fair Isle calendar, and there are usually several throughout the summer. This one though was particularly special, and the floor was full the entire night as people worked off their meals with Boston two-steps, eightsome reels, quadrilles, lancers and hesitation waltzes.

Visitors are often surprised to find that young people in Shetland are still taught these dances in school. Admittedly many of them will be forgotten almost instantly, but dancing has long been considered a vital part of Shetland culture. There are unique variations of some of the traditional dances here, and others that exist nowhere else.

I can well recall the torment of being paired up in P.E. classes in high school to go through the steps of the St. Bernard’s waltz and others, to prepare for our end-of-year dance. At the time I would rather have been doing anything else, but I am very glad now that I can still just about remember what I’m doing. In Fair Isle, while not exactly compulsory, dancing is certainly a mass-participation activity, and it is not considered an embarrassing or humiliating experience by the children, either.

An event like this, in a small, isolated place such as Fair Isle, requires extensive planning, and every household was involved in some way with preparing food and decorating the hall. A banquet for 140 people is not an easy thing to organise when all food and supplies have to be ordered well in advance and shipped in on the ferry. Any unfortunate oversights or miscalculations could not be solved with a last-minute trip to the supermarket. It was miraculous then, perhaps, that everything went smoothly and successfully. So far as I could tell, anyway. The only problem for me being that I ate too much too early, so didn’t allow enough room for cake.

Any mass gathering of Fair Isle or Shetland families like this will always provide the opportunity for that most popular of island sports – reddin up kin. This involves working out exactly how you are related to any or all of the people in the room.

My girlfriend Rachel is a third (or fourth?) cousin to the ruby groom, through both his father and his mother. Our neighbours at the dining table, whom we had never met before, were related to the ruby bride. But their mother had shared a surname with Rachel, so were probably also related to both her and the groom, though apparently no-one had ever been able to discover exactly how that connection worked because the historical records were incomplete.

And so it went on. Cousins, second cousins, third, fourth, fifth cousins, eight times removed: an intricate web of connections that was enough to make anyone feel a bit dizzy. I am certainly relieved at such times that I don’t have to worry about these things.

My family come from England on one side and Ireland on the other, so unless there is some very bizarre coincidence, I am unlikely to ever be related to anyone. It makes life so much easier that way.

Photo by Dave Wheeler

Malachy Tallack is 26 and lives in Fair Isle. He is a singer-songwriter, journalist, and editor of the magazine Shetland Life.
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Tony Blair might be a toxic figure - but his influence endures

Politicians at home and abroad are borrowing from the former prime minister's playbook. 

On 24 May at Methodist Central Hall, Westminster, a short distance from where he once governed, Tony Blair resurfaced for a public discussion. Having arrived on an overnight flight, he looked drawn and puffy-eyed but soon warmed to his theme: a robust defence of liberal globalisation. He admitted, however, to bafflement at recent events in the world. "I thought I was pretty good at politics. But I look at politics today and I’m not sure I understand it."

Blair lost power in the summer of 2007. In the ensuing nine years, he lost reputation. His business ventures and alliances with autocrats have made him a pariah among both the public and his party. A YouGov poll published last year found that 61 per cent of voters regarded Blair as an electoral liability, while just 14 per cent viewed him as an asset. In contrast, John Major, whom he defeated by a landslide in 1997, had a neutral net rating of zero. It is ever harder to recall that Blair won not one general election (he is the only living Labour leader to have done so) but three.

His standing is likely to diminish further when the Iraq inquiry report is published on 6 July. Advance leaks to the Sunday Times suggest that he will be censured for allegedly guaranteeing British military support to the US a year before the invasion. Few minds on either side will be changed by the 2.6 million-word document. Yet its publication will help enshrine Iraq as the defining feature of a legacy that also includes the minimum wage, tax credits, Sure Start, devolution and civil partnerships.

Former leaders can ordinarily rely on their parties to act as a last line of defence. In Blair’s case, however, much of the greatest opprobrium comes from his own side. Jeremy Corbyn inclines to the view that Iraq was not merely a blunder but a crime. In last year’s Labour leadership election, Liz Kendall, the most Blair-esque candidate, was rewarded with 4.5 per cent of the vote. The former prime minister’s imprimatur has become the political equivalent of the black spot.

Yet outside of the Labour leadership, Blairism endures in notable and often surprising forms. Sadiq Khan won the party’s London mayoral selection by running to the left of Tessa Jowell, one of Tony Blair’s closest allies. But his successful campaign against Zac Goldsmith drew lessons from Blair’s election triumphs. Khan relentlessly presented himself as “pro-business” and reached out beyond Labour’s core vote. After his victory, he was liberated to use the B-word, contrasting what “Tony Blair did [in opposition]” with Corbyn’s approach.

In their defence of the UK’s EU membership, David Cameron and George Osborne have deployed arguments once advanced by New Labour. The strategically minded Chancellor has forged an unlikely friendship with his former nemesis Peter Mandelson. In the domestic sphere, through equal marriage, the National Living Wage and the 0.7 per cent overseas aid target, the Conservatives have built on, rather than dismantled, significant Labour achievements."They just swallowed the entire manual," Mandelson declared at a recent King’s College seminar. "They didn’t just read the executive summary, they are following the whole thing to the letter."

Among SNP supporters, "Blairite" is the pejorative of choice. But the parallels between their party and New Labour are more suggestive than they would wish. Like Blair, Alex Salmond and Nicola Sturgeon have avoided income tax rises in order to retain the support of middle-class Scottish conservatives. In a speech last August on education, Sturgeon echoed the Blairite mantra that "what matters is what works".

Beyond British shores, political leaders are similarly inspired by Blair – and less reticent about acknowledging as much. Matteo Renzi, the 41-year-old centre-left Italian prime minister, is a long-standing admirer. "I adore one of his sayings,” he remarked in 2013. “I love all the traditions of my party, except one: that of losing elections."

In France, the reform-minded prime minister, Manuel Valls, and the minister of economy, Emmanuel Macron, are also self-described Blairites. Macron, who in April launched his own political movement, En Marche!, will shortly decide whether to challenge for the presidency next year. When he was compared to Blair by the TV presenter Andrew Marr, his response reflected the former prime minister’s diminished domestic reputation: “I don’t know if, in your mouth, that is a promise or a threat.”

The continuing attraction of Blair’s “third way” to European politicians reflects the failure of the project’s social-democratic critics to construct an alternative. Those who have sought to do so have struggled both in office (François Hollande) and out of it (Ed Miliband). The left is increasingly polarised between reformers and radicals (Corbyn, Syriza, Podemos), with those in between straining for relevance.

Despite his long absences from Britain, Blair’s friends say that he remains immersed in the intricacies of Labour politics. He has privately warned MPs that any attempt to keep Corbyn off the ballot in the event of a leadership challenge would be overruled by the National Executive Committee. At Methodist Central Hall, he said of Corbyn’s supporters: “It’s clear they can take over a political party. What’s not clear to me is whether they can take over a country.”

It was Blair’s insufficient devotion to the former task that enabled the revival of the left. As Alastair Campbell recently acknowledged: “We failed to develop talent, failed to cement organisational and cultural change in the party and failed to secure our legacy.” Rather than effecting a permanent realignment, as the right of the party hoped and the left feared, New Labour failed to outlive its creators.

It instead endures in a fragmented form as politicians at home and abroad co-opt its defining features: its pro-business pragmatism, its big-tent electoralism, its presentational nous. Some of Corbyn’s ­allies privately fear that Labour will one day re-embrace Blairism. But its new adherents would never dare to use that name.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad