If you travel to Shetland today you will find a rather beautiful island chain that essentially comprises a series of steep hills. The topography is abrupt and dramatic; the landscape is gentler towards the coast, but in most places agricultural land is concentrated into small pockets. Numerous islands, of varying size, surround the main landmass.

Curiously, the islands have no indigenous land mammals. The evidence suggests that all, including otters and ponies, have been introduced by the earlier communities of Shetland. The early islanders were canny folk, well able to adapt their lifestyle and farming methods to make the most of the climate and conditions out on this north-western edge of the Atlantic landmass.

The history of the very specific conditions in Shetland brings to mind some pressing questions. If we go back far enough, to the millennia immediately after the Last Glacial Maximum, which ended in the northern hemisphere around 19,000 years ago, then a combination of lower relative sea-levels and land adjustment due to the weight of the ice mean that a great expanse of dry land connected Britain to the Continent. We call this land Doggerland and it is currently the subject of some serious research including work to investigate the topography, flora and fauna of the landscape.

Large quantities of animal bone have been recovered from Doggerland, from a variety of sources including fishing trawls and aggregate extraction. Much of this is Pleistocene, ie dating to before the present era, and it comprises the remains of mammoths, woolly rhinos, bear, lions, hippos, bison and so on. There are also elk and reindeer. And, of course, though they are rare, the remains of people have also been found.

Several of these species of animal were prey species that also occur on excavated archaeological sites in the countries that surround Doggerland, and there is a general assumption that the human inhabitants of Doggerland will have hunted them. It is, in fact, impossible to understand the early settlement of those bordering countries without taking in to account the hazy, but very real, idea that the hunter-gatherer communities who occupied them extended their ranges across lands that have since disappeared beneath the waves.

Indeed, when considering the recent re-discovery of tanged points in Orkney, the general impression is that they provide evidence of the fleeting presence of hunter-gatherer groups from Doggerland who, some 12,000 – 13,000 years ago, were keen, for whatever reason, to explore the north-west fringes of the landmass.

Which brings me back to Shetland. If it was possible for the Late Upper Palaeolithic hunters to access Orkney from Doggerland (whether across a stretch of open water or not), was it also possible for them to access Shetland? When, exactly, did Shetland become islands? If it was possible to get to Shetland overland, then it was also possible that Shetland was home to the animal species that flourished in Doggerland. Of course, you may say – there is no evidence for large mammals in early Shetland, but, I would reply – absence of evidence is not always evidence of absence. There has been little research in deposits of the right age in Shetland so it may be that the bone has just not been found. I’m not sure that we even know where to look. The dramatically lower sea-levels of the period mean that the Shetland we experience today is only part of the resource, only the tops of the Shetlandic mountains that the explorers of Doggerland would have known. It may well be that the best pockets of evidence lie underwater.

This is not just some fanciful questioning. If we really want to understand the nature of Shetland and its earliest population, then we need to understand its relationship with Doggerland. Although the arrival of the early farmers by boat and the animals they brought with them in fairly recent times, is well attested, it is possible, even probable, that there was an earlier Shetland, a place where herds of reindeer, or even mammoth, occasionally grazed and where, when they did, there were small groups of Palaeolithic hunters ready to make the most of the bounty of the land.

I seem to be travelling a lot just now and it makes me think about the ease of mobility today and the way in which it transcends not just distance but also culture. We are all accustomed to the presence of items in our homes, often everyday items, which reflect a way of life very different to our own.

One of my journeys led me north to the island chain of Shetland. It is a great place with amazing archaeology and I was lucky enough to be given the opportunity to spend three days there, discussing the archaeology with colleagues, and visiting some of the lesser known (but as it turned out no less spectacular), sites. Much of our discussion focussed on the introduction of farming to Shetland and development of the Neolithic there. The interesting element about this for me is that, although farming was certainly introduced by boat, there is little evidence that people, once settled there, kept up frequent contacts with communities further south. Repeated evidence for contact between Shetland and places such as Orkney does not appear until later in the Neolithic.

Alison Sheridan’s recent research suggests that, on the grounds of tomb types, the early farming communities may have come from the west coast of Scotland. We do not know for certain whether or not there were pre-existing Mesolithic communities here, but tantalizing hints of the use of coastal resources at an early date come from the site of West Voe in the south of the islands, where a team from Bradford has excavated a site dating to 3700 – 3600 BC. The finds from West Voe included both cattle and sheep bones and seem to indicate a community with both Mesolithic and Neolithic traits. This is, of itself, particularly exciting because, as I have argued before, it is particularly difficult for archaeologists to recognise the ‘blurred’ episodes that lay between our carefully defined periods. West Voe, it seems, is exactly this. Was this one of the first farming communities to settle in Shetland, or do the remains relate to a Mesolithic (or Neolithic) community that chose to adopt the ‘useful bits’ from their new neighbours? At the moment, we just don’t know.

Farming soon spread across Shetland and it is likely that agricultural land may have been more plentiful than today. Shetland, like Orkney, has been subject to rising relative sea-levels since the end of the last Ice Age meaning that coastal lands have been lost. We don’t yet have precise measurements for this but it is possible that relative sea-level was as much as 10m lower around 4000 BC which would mean that the topography of the islands was very different to that of today. As yet, there are few sites that date to this earliest farming period: perhaps a reflection of the loss of coastal settlements to inundation; or of our inability to recognise the earliest sites, particularly if they reflected the hybridity of West Voe; or maybe just confirmation that population levels at this time were, indeed, low.

The interesting thing is that the resources that we find on the Neolithic sites were all very local. And, despite the production in Shetland of stunning and apparently high status objects such as beautiful polished axes and knives of local felsite, we don’t get much evidence of Shetland-style products leaving the islands. Even in Orkney, where the islanders were, apparently, seriously into the production and acquisition of elaborate showy goods like Grooved Ware pottery, only two, possible, artifacts of Shetland felsite have been found. There is no evidence either that pottery such as Grooved Ware, or even architecture such as that of the Stone Circles, or the buildings at Ness of Brodgar and Barnhouse came north to Shetland. And, while research on the Orkney Vole and its possible Neolithic origins on the Continent may still be be controversial, there is no evidence for the spread of Orkney Voles into Shetland.

So, the available evidence suggests that the Neolithic islanders of Shetland did not look south for cultural connections. And the Neolithic islanders of Orkney seem to have been too preoccupied with their own southern networking to explore the possibility that there was benefit to be obtained from looking north. Only later, as economic and cultural horizons in the south of Britain shifted to the Continent and Ireland with the introduction of metal, did Orcadian communities apparently become aware of the availability of raw materials to the north.

I find this seeming isolation of Neolithic Shetland fascinating. Just how many groups of incomers made the lengthy journey north? How many people were needed to settle the islands? You’d not need that many breeding cattle and sheep, though the voyage cannot have been an easy one. Are the difficulties of the voyage reflected in the fact that there is so little evidence for return trips? Does the development of connections between the island groups of Orkney and Shetland in the later third millennium BC (when, for example, we see the export of steatite vessels from Shetland to Orkney) reflect improvements in sea-going craft as well as the possible decline of Orcadian connections further south?

Nevertheless, isolation did not equate with lack of success. The population of Neolithic Shetland may not have been large for the first few centuries, but communities survived. Work by Janet Montgomery of Durham University and her colleagues, suggests that there were, indeed, times of famine, but houses and elaborate tombs were built, and communities developed. With time, Shetland would become more a part of mainstream Britain. For now, it seems to me that the earliest farmers in Shetland may have adapted to their northern homeland by broadening their resource base and leaving an archaeological record that is both less clearly ‘Neolithic’ and, most likely, largely underwater.

I woke to a panel discussion on Radio Scotland the other day regarding the current popularity of archaeology. It was nice to hear them praise the recent Orkney television series, but what really interested me was the link they made between living in uncertain times and the need to reinforce ideas of heritage.

At the end of January I travelled to Shetland to watch the annual Up Helly Aa fire festival. It was an amazing experience, and quite apart from letting my hair down, it got me thinking.

Up Helly Aa is possibly the most important date in the Shetland annual calendar. A local bank holiday, with a language and rituals all of its own. The protocol is important, and it is primarily enacted for islanders, though everyone goes out of their way to make sure that visitors have a good time. As a visitor, it is important to learn the ropes before the event takes place; there is plenty of advice regarding where to get food, what to wear and so on. Even, how not to offend your prospective dancing partners!

The core of the day harks back to Shetland’s Norse heritage as the Guiser Jarl, his Jarl Squad and galley, take over the town. Everywhere you look people are sporting helmets (with and without horns) and the schools and visitor centres use the opportunity to provide a crash course in the Vikings. But this is a recent festival with origins no further back than the early nineteenth century and the raucous Christmas and New Year celebrations at the time. Over time, the date has been shifted to the last Tuesday in January, the name Up Helly Aa introduced, and a general Viking theme adopted. Other disguises and acts are also incorporated as the festivities progress into the night.

This is a carefully curated and stage managed tradition. In Lerwick (the original Up Helly Aa) the protagonists are all men, though elsewhere across Shetland women join in and South Mainland even boasted a female Guiser Jarl in 2015. Yet, for all that, it is still a tradition. Judging by the events of 2017 it has a healthy and happy future for many years to come.

Shetland certainly had an important role as part of the Norse world. Viking sites are to be found all over the islands, from evocative homesteads, to semi-industrial soapstone quarries, merchants’ houses, and even the portage site at Mavis Grind. Those who participate in Up Helly Aa are choosing to reflect on those times and their importance in creating the islands of today. Does it matter that the tradition is a modern creation? There is, in fact, an interesting component of political satire, personal stereo-typing and cross dressing, which serves to keep activities well rooted in the twenty-first century. This is no romantic misty-eyed dreaming of the past. It is as up to date as any of us could hope to be.

Why do it?

Do we need a reason? It is certainly the most fun one can get in northern latitudes on a cold wet day in the middle of winter. Not only do you have fun – you can be someone else for the day.

At one level, it reinforces something that one does not have to spend long in Shetland at any time of year to experience. The expression of an identity that has little to do with mainland (or mainstream) Britain. These islands are nearer to Norway than they are to London and until the mid-fifteenth century they were part of the Danish kingdom. There is much in Shetland today that reminds one that the political origins here were Scandinavian.

At another level, we could return to my original question. Does the current popularity of Up Helly Aa, and the preponderance of knitted Viking Helmets in town, reflect the use of the happy security of times past in order to bolster morale in the uncertain days of the present? It seems counter-intuitive to use a period like the world of the Norse to provide emotional security. This was a time when people often lived in fear: a sail on the horizon could mean the arrival of a slaving ship; violent death was common; food supplies could be uncertain; and political unrest on a scale we have yet to experience in the UK today coloured the contemporary accounts of the time.

But, with that as the backdrop, life went on. Farms were farmed, fishermen fished, traders traded, and children grew into adults. Up Helly Aa may remind us of the daring-do, but within that we can hold on to ordinary life.

I have no doubt that Up Helly Aa will continue, troubled times or not, for many years to come. Ironically, the only cancellations have taken place during actual times of war and with the death of Queen Victoria. It is, for me, primarily a reinforcement of current identity. It is not meant to be authentically Norse, and who cares if the archaeological detail may, on occasion, be hazy. We all create our own pasts. This may be one of the most blatant and public expressions of the creation of the past, but it is by no means the only one. In a world that sometimes seems increasingly anodyne and uniform, such diversity is to be welcomed and nurtured.