WITH red flags fluttering across the Orkneys, visitors might be forgiven for thinking these islands have already joined Norway.
It is an impression compounded by images of fearsome men in horned helmets adorning shop displays, revealing a pride in a historic link to the Vikings.
And now the windswept archipelago is considering making its ties to the Scandinavian country official with a controversial suggestion that it could break away from the UK.
But not everyone who lives there supports the idea.
The man leading the charge for Orcadian independence, 65-year-old retired oatcake businessman James Stockan, reckons Holyrood, Westminster and the European Union HQ are too far removed to properly look after their interests.
He explains defiantly: “Edinburgh is a distant government, London is another distant government and Brussels even further.
“We are closer to Oslo than we are to London.”
The cluster of islands ten miles north of John O’Groats is an unlikely setting for a rebellion against British rule.
Its population of 20,000 enjoys the lowest crime rate in Scotland and, just four years ago, was rated the UK’s best place to live.
Yet last week, disgruntled politicians made headlines around the world by voting to explore the idea of breaking away from Westminster’s grip.
The options on the table include becoming a self-governing territory of Norway.
Many of the Orcadians, as the locals are known, certainly appear to like the idea of going their own way.
Within already unique communities, they use unusual words including “fokk”, which means folk rather than anything crude.
They also have distinctive rituals, such as “blackening” — which involves covering a bride and groom in treacle before their big day.
You won’t find a McDonald’s restaurant or any big shopping centres taking business from homegrown firms — or a permanent set of traffic lights anywhere on the isles.
James, a sensibly dressed father-of-two who makes for a surprising revolutionary, tells The Sun: “Most Orcadians would find it difficult to say their nationality isn’t Orcadian.
“It is such a distinctive place, has such a sharp geographic boundary and unique sense of identity.”
‘Held down’
Geographically, this archipelago is only a 90-minute ferry ride from the Scottish mainland, but in spirit it is a world away.
A lot of its distinctiveness is due to a historical connection to Norway.
The 70 islands were ruled by the Scandinavians until 1472, when they were grabbed by King James III of Scotland.
Many locals can trace their ancestry to the Vikings, and St Magnus Cathedral in the main town of Kirkwall is named after a Norwegian ruler.
James says: “We have a Norse consensus.
“My name is a Norse name.”
The Orkney dialect shares similarities to Norwegian and some locals still speak the language.
They celebrate Norway Constitution Day — and, in 2007, residents voted for a flag that looks remarkably like the Norwegian one.
Both have blue crosses set against a red background.
The only difference is that Orkney’s pennant has thin yellow stripes.
And you certainly won’t find much affection from the islanders for their current political masters in Edinburgh and London.
There were no blue and white crossed Saltires in sight when we visited, and the locals did not have a kind word to say about the Scottish National Party, who rule Scotland in a coalition government with the Greens.
In fact, in the 2014 Scottish independence referendum, 67 per cent of the Orkney population voted to stay in the United Kingdom — the strongest support for the union anywhere in the country.
It is the British flag you will see hanging in council offices.
And it was below a photograph of Queen Elizabeth II that Orkney Islands Council leader James promoted the idea of self-governance last Tuesday.
His fellow councillors represent neither the Conservatives, Scottish National Party nor Labour — and are mainly independent, with a couple of Greens.
In a wood-panelled council chamber, James told them: “We have been held down.”
The Norwegians are making no claim on these islands in the North Sea.
And one councillor described cosying up to politicians in Norway’s capital Oslo as a “bizarre fantasy”.
It is more likely that Orkney could bid for the same status as Guernsey, Jersey or the Isle of Man — self-governing crown dependencies which remain part of the United Kingdom.
The British Government dismissed any notion of self-determination.
But it surely cannot ignore the discontent here for much longer.
Much of the disaffection is down to the refusal of mainland bureaucrats to fund a new internal ferry fleet.
Existing vessels have holes in their hulls and often break down, leaving residents on the 17 inhabited islands stranded.
James explains: “The internal ferries should have been replaced at the maximum age of 30 years.
“The oldest in service is 50 years old and the youngest 27.”
That means Orcadians have to find novel ways to get around, even if they do not plan on going far.
A journey by plane from the island of Westray to neighbouring Papa Westray is the shortest scheduled flight in the world, taking less than two minutes, including taxiing.
Meanwhile, many locals have also complained about how difficult it is to obtain goods, such as spare parts for cars.
And council chief James claimed they paid extra VAT due to higher importation costs.
But they enjoy high employment levels and, during our visit, we did not spot a single police car or cop — or, indeed, hear any sirens.
This remote community already does things very differently from the rest of the UK.
There is an Orkney wordbook with thousands of phrases such as “fykan” for picking at your food, “skreever” for a howling wind and “witheron”, meaning rogue.
Social media sensation Maddie Hill, 21, who has more than half a million followers on TikTok, posts videos about some of Orkney’s traditions.
She says: “A lot of people are intrigued about what people get up to on an island in the middle of the North Sea.
“People want to know how we survive without McDonald’s or a shopping centre.
“Everybody knows each other, so when young people go out it’s like a big social gathering.
“It’s a totally different way of living.
“In the summer time, on a Saturday, you will see many brides and grooms being blackened.”
Afterwards the happy couple are tied to a lamppost on a roundabout.
Another form of entertainment is a game of street football simply called The Ba’, which takes place on Christmas Day and January 1.
Dating back to 1650, it involves the Doonies and the Uppies teams competing to get a leather ball called the ba’ to opposite sides of Kirkwall.
Maddie says: “If you win The Ba’, you’ve made it in life.”
The influencer, who moved to the islands from England when she was just one year old, has had to return to the mainland to study drama at university.
It’s a familiar problem for young Orcadians.
‘Absolutely mad’
Imogen Flett, 18, who was born in Orkney, will head off to university in either Edinburgh or Glasgow in September.
She says: “A lot of us go down south to university.
“I want to see more.”
Youngsters may be keen to get out and explore the world.
But there is lots for visitors to see and do in Orkney.
Coach-loads of tourists queue up to view the remains of the 5,000-year-old Skara Brae settlement near the Bay of Skaill — and the ornate Italian Chapel on Lamb Holm, which was painted by prisoners of war from Italy during World War Two.
There are numerous shipwrecks for scuba divers in Scapa Flow, where the German fleet was scuttled at the end of the First World War.
This stretch of sea, surrounded by several islands, is also the last resting place of 835 servicemen who died on the HMS Royal Oak when it was torpedoed in 1939 — as well as nearly 900 men who perished on HMS Vanguard in 1917.
The centre of Kirkwall throngs with cruise ship day-trippers taking in the red sandstone cathedral and gazing at the shop windows filled with cuddly puffin toys, paintings and pottery.
But sightseers making a pilgrimage to the hamlet of Twatt will be disappointed.
The naughty-sounding road sign kept getting stolen and has not been replaced.
There is more to the economy than tourism, though, as the island is dotted with livestock and wind farms.
Locals are split on whether that is enough to let Orkney stand on its own two feet.
Ingirid Jolly, 76, who is a custodian at the cathedral, says: “I think it’s absolutely mad.
“I don’t imagine we would have the wherewithal to be independent.”
And Colin Muir, 57, owner of the Pomona Cafe, calls researching self-governance a “waste of time and money”.
But Amanda Upton, 56, insists: “The people here are not happy with the SNP.
“We get a lot less per head of population than the Shetland and Western isles.”
Professional artist Jenny Stone, 52, concludes: “I’m all for it.
“Orkney looks after itself so well anyway.”
So for now, the red flags will keep flying in this corner of the UK that barely feels like Britain at all.
