From time to time, debates about Shetland in social media touch on the question of how the islands are described. It’s a fair bet that, if someone refers to ‘the Shetlands’, someone else will quickly jump in to point out that the right term is simply “Shetland”, or possibly “the Shetland Islands”.
It’s true that Shetland is very much the term preferred by locals, and there are reasons for that. It’s obviously right to go with the local grain, just as we’d do if we were talking about (say) Mumbai rather than Bombay.
On the face of it, however, rejection of “the Shetlands” might seem surprising. After all, it’s quite normal to talk about island groups such as the Azores, Bahamas, Canaries or Maldives. Why the preference? Well, it has strong historical and emotional roots.
There’s a lot about Shetland that’s distinctive. It’s well known that we have our own traditions, such as the winter season of fire festivals. At an everyday level, there are unwritten rules that it’s best to observe. For example, if a piece of wood, or something else useful, washes up on a beach, custom dictates that, if you lay it on the grass at the top of the beach, it’s yours. Nobody else should be tempted to take it home.
But is the naming convention just about tradition? Well, no. Its roots lie partly in how Shetland folk feel about the place, and indeed how their ancestors viewed it. The Vikings called the islands Hjaltland, apparently because the shape of the group echoes the form of the hilt (hjalt) of a sword. They clearly thought of Shetland as a ‘land’.
Today, although it’s seldom stated in this way, it helps to follow the Viking lead and think of Shetland as a land that’s “apart”; in effect, a small and distinct country.
That has the interesting consequence that we never speak about living ‘”on” Shetland – we always think of ourselves as living “in” Shetland, just as we would if we lived “in” island nations such as Ireland, Iceland or New Zealand.
There are more obvious examples of the legacy of 600 years of Norse rule. Place-names, dialect, and hints of it in building design all reflect it. Shetland certainly isn’t full-on Scandi – Lerwick really doesn’t resemble Torshavn in Faroe, for instance - but those echoes of our northern neighbours are never far away.
On the other hand, Shetland doesn’t feel particularly Scottish; if as a visitor you arrive here after touring Scotland, one of the things that may strike you is the almost complete absence of tartan. Kilts really only appear at weddings, and then only occasionally. If you’ve been wandering the streets of Edinburgh or Inverness, you’ll notice that Lerwick entirely lacks busking bagpipers. The only place you’re likely to come across Gaelic is on the bonnet of one of Police Scotland’s vehicles; it was never spoken here.
It may not fall into either Scottish or Scandinavian camps, but Shetland does acknowledge both. The Shetland flag brings those influences together, using the colours of the Scottish saltire but a cross of the same form used in the Nordic countries.
Less tangible, but real enough for those who live here, is a sense of self-containment. Shetland may be a long way from Edinburgh (Bergen in Norway is closer) but it doesn’t feel particularly remote, except perhaps when we’re participating in the postcode lottery operated by courier companies. We can be in Edinburgh or Glasgow quicker than people living in much of north-west Scotland. And whilst we can appreciate the wit of the civil servant who, in 1903, decided that Shetland’s car registration should be PS, Shetland doesn’t feel like a postscript.
Nor is there any mood of isolationism: Shetland has long-established trading links with the rest of Europe, stretching back to the days when Lerwick harbour was the summer base for the Dutch herring fleet and Hanseatic traders set up shop in (among other places) Unst, Northmavine, Burra and Whalsay.
Shetland seafarers’ skills were particularly valued in both the Royal Navy and the merchant navy; many of them would have been as familiar with Singapore or Montevideo as they were with Aberdeen or Leith, and the P&O shipping line was co-founded by a Shetlander, Arthur Anderson; his birthplace, the Böd of Gremista, survives and is today occupied by the Shetland textile museum. Today’s fishery and energy sectors are equally international in scope.
There are other international connections, too. Humanitarian links have developed with communities in, among other places, Albania, India and Zimbabwe. The international schools exchange known as the Global Classroom has its roots here.
With all of that in mind, the analogy with a small country isn’t such a stretch. The way we describe ourselves flows from that mindset.
On the other hand, we shouldn’t be surprised or upset if those unfamiliar with the islands and their history refer to “the Shetlands”, in the same way as they think of other archipelagos. After all, they can’t be expected to know that the usual naming rule doesn’t apply here.
However, for those who visit or want to settle, it seldom takes very long to begin to think “Shetland” and to understand why that label fits perfectly with the spirit of the place.
Alastair Hamilton moved to Shetland in 1976. Until he retired, he worked for Shetland Islands Council, latterly as Head of Planning, and was also involved in economic development.