Today the sun has been shining almost continuously in the seaside town of Home. At times there has not been a cloud visible in the sky. Arty poetical writers, myself included, tend to refer to a sky like this as “sapphire”, but actually it is only remotely like the colouring of the gemstone. Really, it is much lighter and paler and so - note to self! - writers should find much better terminology to match such things.
It is an obsession of poets and authors to put labels on things, adjectives thrown in just for the sake of bumping up the word count or trying to describe to their readers exactly what the image in their head looks like. The only problem is, if you label everything there can be little room for imagination.
Today we travelled off to John O’Groats. I am assuming that this name means something to all of my readers as it attracts tourists from the world over. This seasonally affected village is the epitome of labelling. It’s the end of the road, the journey’s end. Each year thousands of tourists meander up the thin, twisting and potentially dangerous A9 and A99 to visit and when they get there are confronted with a handful of shops and a little harbour. In the sunshine, like today, it is all very picturesque with cyclists posing beneath the signpost and cars with registrations from all across Europe. Last year, whilst busy on the advertising campaign with The Forty Five Project we met a very friendly Italian who very politely listened to us before it became apparent that he only knew about 5 words of English.
The tag attached to John O’Groats is perhaps the single biggest tourist attraction of the Caithness region and I can’t help but wonder what other labels those tourists attribute to my home. To me it is certainly not the end of the road, because that sounds morbid and depressing! Journey’s end is a little better as I’ve always felt that home is not so much where the heart is as where the feet lead.
This is the danger of labelling - no two people would ever necessarily use the same label for the same thing. How many of those visitors to John O’Groats would even consider the lives of the inhabitants, whose labels would be entirely different to the tourists’, and their seasonal struggle during the winter months? There is a wonderfully crafted line in a Chris De Burgh song that states:
“There’s nothing quite like an out of season holiday town in the rain.”
And all labels are gone. I love these little Caithness harbour villages when the wind and swell drives the sea up and over the harbour walls. Here, we get a crusting of salt on our car and windows if the wind is easterly. And that brings a feeling beyond labels and adjectives. That sharp taste of salt on the lips and stinging of the salty spray in the eyes brings back a cacophony (very good word I intend to use more often!) of feelings and emotions relating to happy childhood memories. I would not like to spoil their memory by attaching tags to them.
It may be that, although we are - supposedly! - the most advanced creatures on the planet, we have to accept that some things are beyond words, are ineffable and should remain that way. Words fail too often, and it is risky to pin too many emotions and hopes on how those words are received by others. It is all very well sticking labels on scenery and objects, but I don’t think it is ever right to attach them to hopes and memories - trust me, when I’ve tried I sound like I’m really loopy!
So today, or tomorrow since some of you will be reading this at night, look for the beauty in the world around you, whether that is in a friendly smile or a glorious sunset, just be glad it’s there. By all means try to describe it to someone else, but they won’t feel the same or even understand the way you feel about it. That’s for you, and you alone.
And, incidentally, there is nothing wrong with arty, poetic language - just so long as it’s relevant and accurate and not just the same general idea - at least I hope there isn’t or my writing is knackered!
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