Preserving a Culture: Growing up on the Shetland Islands

Located about 100 miles north of John o'Groats, Scotland, the rocky coastline may be battered on all sides by the North Sea and the Atlantic Ocean but this is where the old and new blend easily, a rich Nordic culture flourishes, and the warm welcoming character of a farming and fishing community is preserved.

As the plane flies low over the white capped waves of the Atlantic Ocean, seemingly skimming the sheer cliffs of Sumburgh Head, you can see fishing boats tossed like corks on the navy blue ocean; on land, peat smoke drifts lazily from chimney pots and the Shetland sheep, like little cotton balls, dot the green and peaty-brown patchwork hillside. Descending a rickety ladder from the 50-seater plane, on to the tarmac landing strip which ends at the sea shore, the visitor enters a pristine, almost magical land, unspoiled by smokestacks and billboards. On the 45-minute drive to Lerwick, the capital, you'll see Shetland ponies grazing in fields with crofter's cottages nearby. In contrast, there are pockets of newer housing developments, influenced by Norwegian architecture, catapulting the town into the 21st century.

Looking through old photos of Lerwick, some as far back as the late 19th century, it seems many areas have not changed. The solid, granite houses on Union Street, remain the same on the outside, though inside they have been transformed into comfortable residences with all modern trappings. A car must carefully navigate the blind corner by the Queens Hotel and lodberries, underground caves for 19th century smugglers, are part of many of the shore-side dwellings where the sea laps against the thick walls. The Old Manse, built around 1865, on Commercial Street, is still a private home.

Glossary

borscht: beetroot soupgefilte fish: chopped seasoned fish balls simmered in brothkashrut: Jewish dietary lawskiddush: blessingmezuzah: rolled parchment inscribed with Biblical verses attached to the doorpost of a houseshtetl: small village in Russia and Eastern Europe

This is where my father, Harry, my grandfather Louis and uncles, Hyman and Woolf, arrived in the early 1920's. They had travelled by steam ship from Aberdeen braving a rough, 14 hour journey across the Pentland Firth. Their companions were a few hardy Shetland men anxious to get back home to wives and sweethearts after a year at the whaling, and in the hold, herds of cattle and sheep. But even the grey stone buildings, rising like ghostly sentinels and shrouded in mist, did not dampen their spirits. After all, they had travelled thousands of miles from Gorodea, a Belarussian shetl (village) near Minsk, where the brutality of the dreaded Cossacks and shouts of "beat the Jews" was a common occurrence. Until the Cossacks rode away, Jews might be left to die in the muddy street. It was a place where young Jewish men faced a 25 year conscription into the Czar's army only to return old and broken. Little wonder that my grandfather took his sons to flee from this cruelty and violence. Harry never talked about his childhood, burying these ghoulish memories deep into his soul. Lerwick, (from Ler Voek – muddy water in Norse). even in the gloomy dawn, appeared as a safe refuge.

Eventually, my grandfather and uncles left Shetland to live in Glasgow where there was a large Jewish community. Harry stayed. Shetlanders had welcomed the little Jewish peddler who brought news from neighbouring communities along with jewellery described by the late Johann Laurenson of Hamnavoe, Burra Isle, as "bonnie things we had only seen in picture books." He felt safe and settled. Harry took over the little shop on Commercial Street. It had started out as an ice cream shop. Harry added jewellery, then the clothing items such as ribbed, woollen underwear, essential for island life. He was comfortable and making a living. But there was just one thing lacking. He wanted a Jewish wife, not to be found in the staunchly Christian community. He contacted a shadchen, a marriage broker in Glasgow. That was how Harry met and married Jean Segal.

"How can you have taken me to this G-d-forsaken place?" These were Jean's first words as the steamship lumbered into Lerwick's Victoria Pier. She had been born and raised in an orthodox Jewish community in the Glasgow Gorbals. Years later she told me "I thought I was in the middle of a nightmare." It was 6 am. Tall stone buildings along the shoreline were silhouetted against a murky sky "heavy with rain," noted Harry adding as though to reassure "but it will all blow over and maybe the sun will come out". Stumbling along a cobblestone path leading to the Greenwald shop did nothing to dispel her fears. Harry led her up the bare wooden staircase into the flat (apartment) above the shop. This was to be her home.

They stepped into a large room which would serve as kitchen, dining room and living room. She was appalled. "It was the most depressing living space I had ever seen." She recalled. A bare electric light bulb hung from the ceiling, a sticky fly paper black with dead flies dangled in a corner, the windows overlooking the street were caked with salt and grime and faded cracked linoleum covered the creaky floor. No attempt had been made to clean up the dried remains of leftover baked beans and the tannin stained tea cups piled up in the hallway sink where cold water poured out of a grimy brass faucet. Though the sheets and blankets were clean, there were no rugs to cover the wooden bedroom floor and the only heat would be from an ash-covered pot bellied stove which stood in the corner. "I decided there and then that it was going to be sink or swim," she told me "and I was determined not to sink." Casting aside her despair, together with local help, the Greenwald flat was transformed into a comfortable, cozy and bright home.

In spite of the isolation, Jean was determined to retain her Jewishness and pass it on to her family. Frantic letters and phone calls to her sisters in Glasgow resulted in Judaica such as mezuzahs, a kiddush cup and brass candle sticks sent up to Jean in Shetland. Harry was instructed to attach the mezuzah to the doorpost according to Jewish tradition. At sunset on Friday evening, the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath, Jean lit the candles covering her eyes as she recited the age old Hebrew blessing. Harry recited the blessing welcoming the Sabbath and parents and children sipped the wine from a silver kiddush cup. The tall brass candlesticks which were polished every Friday morning are a family heirloom filled with memories.

While Jean took care of the shop and the flat, Harry travelled to the country villages with clothing and jewellery. But it was my birth that really helped Jean form long, lasting friendships, setting down roots in the island community. As she strolled to Gilbertson Park with me bundled into a high Silver Cross pram "to get some fresh air," she met the late Lilly Hunter, a tall, cultivated lady who had worked "in service" in England. She had returned to Shetland to get married. She became our "Granny Hunter" and my mother's confidante, comforter and supporter. The late Johann and Johnny Laurenson of Hamnavoe, whom my father had met on his travels, became extended family. We spent holidays in each others homes. They joined us for Passover Seders and Rosh Hashanah meals, we looked forward to Christmas dinners and opening presents from Santa Claus on Christmas mornings. As children grew into adulthood that closeness continues onto a new generation and on my annual visits I'm assured of a warm welcome picking up where we left off decades ago.

Food is crucial to retaining a culture and Jean was a superb cook. The ingredients which were available in Glasgow and an integral part of Ashkenazi (Eastern European) cooking were also cheap and available in Shetland. Jean transformed white fish such as haddock and cod by topping it with a gooseberry sauce or chopping it with onions and seasonings, rolling it into balls, then letting it simmer in a fish broth to make the traditional gefilte fish. Finnan haddie simmered in milk was spiked with minced garlic, "drippy" cream cheese made from soured milk and crowned with a spoonful of rhubarb and fig jam, made a fine dessert. Herring was plentiful and Harry never failed to go down to the pier for a "fry" (half a dozen) from the fishing boats. When my neighbours were eating fried herring and oatcakes, we were eating ruby red borscht (beetroot soup), chopped and pickled herring or gefilte fish (chopped seasoned fish) and for dessert, a fruit studded strudel. Almost every day, at any time, friends or neighbours dropped in to chat and sample Jean's strudels, sugary kichels and buttery caraway seed cakes along with a cup of tea. However, I never refused the fresh baked bannocks and brunnies at my playmate's homes, though secretly I felt Ma's cooking vastly superior.

There was no supporting Jewish community, rabbi or synagogue but holidays were strictly observed and our Jewishness was never hidden – which led to respect from the deeply religious Christian community. The green and gold sign above the shop read "H&J Greenwald," certainly not a Shetland or even Scottish name. I'm sure that during World War II when the Germans had invaded Norway, less than 200 miles away, that these were anxious and stressful times for my parents. Each Passover, an order was mailed to Michael Morrison's delicatessen in Glasgow where several gallons of olive oil were included along with the boxes of matzo and matzo meal. Jean was adamant "I was using olive oil long before it became fashionable." At the Jewish High Holidays (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) a notice was inserted in The Shetland Times, the weekly newspaper "Greenwalds will be closed in observance of the Jewish holidays." At school, I was allowed to go to art and music classes instead of religion as Jean informed the headmaster "We're Jewish." However, that didn't deter me from attending church services in Hamnavoe where Johann was the organist. I loved the hymns and Jean noted "that's not going to make her forget her own religion." In fact from the time I was a toddler, I told my babysitters "my name is Ethel Greenwald and I'm a British Jew."

During World War II, more than 300 Jewish men and women were stationed in Shetland. Determined that they should be able to observe the Jewish holidays, Jean along with a willing group of friends, cooked and served traditional meals to these soldiers at the Lerwick camp. "I couldn't have done it without their help and the cooperation of the commanding officer," she said. Jean was adamant that everything should be perfect, but the wine was far from perfect. She immediately telephoned the distributor saying "just because we're up in Shetland does not mean you should send us inferior wine . . . this is for the men and women who are fighting to keep you safe." A new shipment arrived on the next ferry boat and the bad wine was poured down the drain.

For Lerwegians and country folk, shopping at "Greenvalds" was a social occasion. "Greenvalds" had the reputation for good quality at a fair price. Customers knew that Harry was always ready with a joke and they could enjoy a good "yarn" (conversation). He was a true salesman and they usually left with more than they bargained for – "a brooch for the wife" or a "pair of fine wool socks for kirk on Sunday." At Christmas time, Harry took good customers into the back shop where slices of Jean's dark fruit cake and Crabbie's Green Ginger wine was offered – and never refused.

The Nissan huts are gone, the countryside unspoiled. In the 70's, the discovery of oil in the North Sea brought a new prosperity to the islands. Workers were flown in from the Scottish mainland and from England. For several years Shetland was the busiest airport in the UK. Helicopters and small planes landed, then helicopters took off again to fly out to the oil rigs. A terminal was built at Sullom Voe, an isolated part of the mainland. Sadly, high wages attracted so many Shetlanders that most of the stores on Commercial Street were forced to close. For a time, "the street" was gloomy and no longer the vibrant heart of the town. Two supermarkets opened on the outskirts of Lerwick so there was no need to come into the street.

But with the oil boom, Shetland was rejuvenated. Many of the men who came to work, brought their families and stayed, attracted by the quiet life and for children the high standard of education. Modern houses have been built expanding country villages without taking away from the pristine beauty of the landscape. There are no billboards, factory chimneys, and no pollution. There are peat moors and streams rushing down heather covered hillsides, almost 24 hour daylight in summer (the simmer dim), and in winter, a rich, cultural social life with debating societies, folk music, local theatre, and night classes.

Much of the credit for preserving the Shetland dialect and culture goes to the "incomers", men and women who came to work, stayed and put down roots. Spinning, weaving and the old Shetland knitting patterns are now taught, the music of past generations played on fiddle and accordion are being revived, and the soft dialect based on Old Norse and Lowland Scots can be heard on Commercial Street. Visitors arrive in Shetland on cruise ships, by ferry and by air. Besides the hotels, The Grand and the Queens, located in the heart of Lerwick, there are excellent bed and breakfasts such as Glen Orchy where not only is the breakfast bounteous but where Trevor, the innkeeper, will fill you in on everything you want to know about Lerwick (and some best left out) over a tot of whisky. The Tourist Office at the Market Cross, once again the centre of a bustling town, offers information and help along with an incredible variety of crafts made by talented Shetlanders. Nearby is the main Post Office, the well-stocked Shetland Times book shop where you can choose from everything from romantic novels to shelves of informative books on Shetland written by Shetlanders. There are wine shops, shops selling Shetland woollens, gift shops, pharmacies, flower shops, clothing stores, newsagents like Conochies where besides selling magazines and newspapers, also sell chocolates and "sweeties." There are bakeries and an abundance of little coffee shops and restaurants where you can sit with coffee and a home baked scone or a hot meat pie and watch the people go by. My brother, Roy, sold the Greenwald shops in the early 1990's but the Greenwald name remains. "Greenwald's Small Tours," is owned and operated by Roy. With his intimate knowledge of the islands and its folklore, his personalised tours for no more than six people draw visitors from all over the world.

The Shetland countryside – there you find the peaceful sounds of silence. It's the occasional scream of a lone herring gull, the peep of a pee wit flying over the remains of peat banks, the salty, clean smell of waves crashing against the rocks, or the earthy smoke from cottage peat fires which burn even in summer. These are the islands my father loved. When my mother had the opportunity to emigrate to the States to be with her children, she would not leave. In her words "Shetland has a beauty all of its own." She died, at 92 years old, having lived and flourished in Shetland for more than 60 years. She remained vibrant, forceful and respected to the end.

For Jean and Harry Greenwald, the easiest way to adapt to their new life would have been to assimilate, to cast aside their Jewish heritage and values and silently blend into the Christian community. Not so. Daily we were reminded of our Jewishness. Jean kept to the kosher dietary rules as much as she was able – kosher meat arrived from Glasgow riddled with maggots. "My children must have protein," she said as she tossed it, paper and all, into the trash. So we never ate pork products or shell fish, milk and meat were never served together and she cooked Eastern European Jewish dishes like kugels and blintzes, much to Harry's delight. We observed the Sabbath and Holydays, often enriched by sharing with friends. By my parents' example in the home, we knew we were Jewish. We were inspired by their example, absorbing a lasting, profound Jewish identity.

The experiences of Jean and Harry Greenwald show that no matter colour, race or religion or where you may find yourself, with faith and determination, culture can be preserved.

I am eternally grateful for my parents' example, their courage, values and motivation. This precious legacy was my passport to a fulfilling and meaningful future.