Sign of spring times

Dominic Roskrow marks the end of winter by returning to his beloved West Coast

In the four years when I lived in New Zealand, the thing I missed most about Britain was the change in seasons, and particularly the adjustment from winter to spring.

In Britain spring arrives symbolically. We put the clocks forward an hour so evenings suddenly become lighter: Easter arrives and with it, scores of spring traditions, such as entire villages fighting each other for hours over a small barrel as they do in Hallaton, close to where I grew up: the traditional Boat Race takes place, when predominantly foreign rowing crews representing Oxford and Cambridge Universities race each other on the Thames and a thousand musty boatsheds open their doors and play host to Champagne picnics, whatever the weather: in sporting changingrooms the phenolic winter odours of camphor and body rub gives way to gentle dusty leather and linseed oil associated with cricket bats, pads and gloves.

My symbolic moment comes when I first step foot on a Scottish island after the winter months. With the exception of the main road between Aberdeen and the Speyside region I tend to avoid trips to the far North and on to the islands between October and late March and I particularly miss the West coast during that time.

This year I did make one foolish effort to get to Orkney in February, but after two failed attempts to take off from my home airport and an hour spent watching news and weather reports about gales on the Northern coast, I slinked out of the airport shaken and stirred. A gale is na...

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• By : Dominic Roskrow
• In : Editor's View
• Issue : 20
• Page : 3
• Words : 615