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.
Photo: André Spicer
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“It’s scary to do it again”: the five-year-old fined £150 for running a lemonade stand

Enforcement officers penalised a child selling home-made lemonade in the street. Her father tells the full story. 

It was a lively Saturday afternoon in east London’s Mile End. Groups of people streamed through residential streets on their way to a music festival in the local park; booming bass could be heard from the surrounding houses.

One five-year-old girl who lived in the area had an idea. She had been to her school’s summer fête recently and looked longingly at the stalls. She loved the idea of setting up her own stall, and today was a good day for it.

“She eventually came round to the idea of selling lemonade,” her father André Spicer tells me. So he and his daughter went to their local shop to buy some lemons. They mixed a few jugs of lemonade, the girl made a fetching A4 sign with some lemons drawn on it – 50p for a small cup, £1 for a large – and they carried a table from home to the end of their road. 

“People suddenly started coming up and buying stuff, pretty quickly, and they were very happy,” Spicer recalls. “People looked overjoyed at this cute little girl on the side of the road – community feel and all that sort of stuff.”

But the heart-warming scene was soon interrupted. After about half an hour of what Spicer describes as “brisk” trade – his daughter’s recipe secret was some mint and a little bit of cucumber, for a “bit of a British touch” – four enforcement officers came striding up to the stand.

Three were in uniform, and one was in plain clothes. One uniformed officer turned the camera on his vest on, and began reciting a legal script at the weeping five-year-old.

“You’re trading without a licence, pursuant to x, y, z act and blah dah dah dah, really going through a script,” Spicer tells me, saying they showed no compassion for his daughter. “This is my job, I’m doing it and that’s it, basically.”

The girl burst into tears the moment they arrived.

“Officials have some degree of intimidation. I’m a grown adult, so I wasn’t super intimidated, but I was a bit shocked,” says Spicer. “But my daughter was intimidated. She started crying straight away.”

As they continued to recite their legalese, her father picked her up to try to comfort her – but that didn’t stop the officers giving her stall a £150 fine and handing them a penalty notice. “TRADING WITHOUT LICENCE,” it screamed.


Picture: André Spicer

“She was crying and repeating, ‘I’ve done a bad thing’,” says Spicer. “As we walked home, I had to try and convince her that it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her who had done something bad.”

She cried all the way home, and it wasn’t until she watched her favourite film, Brave, that she calmed down. It was then that Spicer suggested next time they would “do it all correctly”, get a permit, and set up another stand.

“No, I don’t want to, it’s a bit scary to do it again,” she replied. Her father hopes that “she’ll be able to get over it”, and that her enterprising spirit will return.

The Council has since apologised and cancelled the fine, and called on its officials to “show common sense and to use their powers sensibly”.

But Spicer felt “there’s a bigger principle here”, and wrote a piece for the Telegraph arguing that children in modern Britain are too restricted.

He would “absolutely” encourage his daughter to set up another stall, and “I’d encourage other people to go and do it as well. It’s a great way to spend a bit of time with the kids in the holidays, and they might learn something.”

A fitting reminder of the great life lesson: when life gives you a fixed penalty notice, make lemonade.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.