Roll up, roll up for Fair Isle wool

Malachy recounts the challenges of getting all the Fair Isle sheep into one place for shearing. Mili

A military-style operation has been carried out in Fair Isle this week - albeit one in which quite a few of the participants had no idea of either the goal or the method.


Rounding up the sheep from the common grazing began with our orders, which we received at the start of the week: Meet on Wednesday morning at 8.30. And don’t be late!

It is true that many of those who take part in this event (known as the caa) have never seen such a thing before, let alone been involved. They have come to the island as part of the work camps, or to stay at the bird observatory, and it must be daunting for them to find themselves caught in the middle of something so complicated, and so important. It probably doesn’t help then that the morning does not begin with any kind of explanation or ‘plan of action’. At 8.30, when everyone has gathered, islanders simply move off in various directions, some in vehicles, and some on foot. Everyone else just picks someone to follow.


The point of the operation is to gather all of the sheep and lambs from the common grazing, which makes up just over half of the island, into the crü (pen). There are more than 300 sheep in total – around 20 for each croft – plus all of the lambs. Which is a lot of sheep.

The basic plan is to move the sheep southwards towards the hill dyke. Once there, they will be forced along the wall towards the crü, and the gate shut behind them. Simple as that. Or it would be if the sheep all stuck together. Which they don’t. Or if they always moved the way you want them to move. Which they don’t.

The way it is done (in theory) is to create a series of lines of people, equally spaced, all walking in the right direction. Gradually the different lines will join together, until everyone reaches the hill dyke at (roughly) the same time, with all of the sheep in front of them.

I have become convinced, however, that if you asked every person on the island how it is meant to work, you would receive a different answer from each of them. But it does work, and that, I suppose, is the important thing. While a few wily sheep manage to slip through the lines or hide down cliffs, the vast majority end up in the right place.

The caa is done three times during the year. Twice for clipping and worming the ewes, and once to take the lambs away for the freezer. This was the first caa of the year, so the main job of the day was shearing.


Clipping in Fair Isle is still done by non-electrical means – basically with giant scissors – and for those, like me, who are still fairly new to it, it can be a slow, back-breaking job. It was improved on Wednesday though by glorious sunshine, which lasted, remarkably, throughout the day, meaning that, by Thursday, everybody was both aching and burnt.


Wool these days is not a valuable product. Despite the fact that Shetland wool is world-renowned for its qualities, the money we get will not even pay for the time spent cutting it. So this year I have decided to try a different sales route. Some of my fleeces will be going for sale on the internet over the next few days; so if there’s any knitters, spinners and dyers amongst you, check out eBay for your authentic Fair Isle wool.

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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The deafening killer - why noise will be the next great pollution scandal

A growing body of evidence shows that noise can have serious health impacts too. 

Our cities are being poisoned by a toxin that surrounds us day and night. It eats away at our brains, hurts our hearts, clutches at our sleep, and gnaws at the quality of our daily lives.

Hardly a silent killer, it gets short shrift compared to the well-publicised terrors of air pollution and sugars food. It is the dull, thumping, stultifying drum-beat of perpetual noise.

The score that accompanies city life is brutal and constant. It disrupts the everyday: The coffee break ruined by the screech of a line of double decker buses braking at the lights. The lawyer’s conference call broken by drilling as she makes her way to the office. The writer’s struggle to find a quiet corner to pen his latest article.

For city-dwellers, it’s all-consuming and impossible to avoid. Construction, traffic, the whirring of machinery, the neighbour’s stereo. Even at home, the beeps and buzzes made by washing machines, fridges, and phones all serve to distract and unsettle.

But the never-ending noisiness of city life is far more than a problem of aesthetics. A growing body of evidence shows that noise can have serious health impacts too. Recent studies have linked noise pollution to hearing loss, sleep deprivation, hypertension, heart disease, brain development, and even increased risk of dementia.

One research team compared families living on different stories of the same building in Manhattan to isolate the impact of noise on health and education. They found children in lower, noisier floors were worse at reading than their higher-up peers, an effect that was most pronounced for children who had lived in the building for longest.

Those studies have been replicated for the impact of aircraft noise with similar results. Not only does noise cause higher blood pressure and worsens quality of sleep, it also stymies pupils trying to concentrate in class.

As with many forms of pollution, the poorest are typically the hardest hit. The worst-off in any city often live by busy roads in poorly-insulated houses or flats, cheek by jowl with packed-in neighbours.

The US Department of Transport recently mapped road and aircraft noise across the United States. Predictably, the loudest areas overlapped with some of the country’s most deprived. Those included the south side of Atlanta and the lowest-income areas of LA and Seattle.

Yet as noise pollution grows in line with road and air traffic and rising urban density, public policy has turned a blind eye.

Council noise response services, formally a 24-hour defence against neighbourly disputes, have fallen victim to local government cuts. Decisions on airport expansion and road development pay scant regard to their audible impact. Political platforms remain silent on the loudest poison.

This is odd at a time when we have never had more tools at our disposal to deal with the issue. Electric Vehicles are practically noise-less, yet noise rarely features in the arguments for their adoption. Just replacing today’s bus fleet would transform city centres; doing the same for taxis and trucks would amount to a revolution.

Vehicles are just the start. Millions were spent on a programme of “Warm Homes”; what about “Quiet Homes”? How did we value the noise impact in the decision to build a third runway at Heathrow, and how do we compensate people now that it’s going ahead?

Construction is a major driver of decibels. Should builders compensate “noise victims” for over-drilling? Or could regulation push equipment manufacturers to find new ways to dampen the sound of their kit?

Of course, none of this addresses the noise pollution we impose on ourselves. The bars and clubs we choose to visit or the music we stick in our ears. Whether pumping dance tracks in spin classes or indie rock in trendy coffee shops, people’s desire to compensate for bad noise out there by playing louder noise in here is hard to control for.

The Clean Air Act of 1956 heralded a new era of city life, one where smog and grime gave way to clear skies and clearer lungs. That fight still goes on today.

But some day, we will turn our attention to our clogged-up airwaves. The decibels will fall. #Twitter will give way to twitter. And every now and again, as we step from our homes into city life, we may just hear the sweetest sound of all. Silence.

Adam Swersky is a councillor in Harrow and is cabinet member for finance. He writes in a personal capacity.