Island classification document is a huge step in the right direction

I say a holiday, but it was really a research trip for my academic father who, bedecked in a cagoule, spent most of it searching for headstones in grey graveyards whilst we sat miserably in the car through a never-ending series of ever-worsening deluges.

Other recollections of that Mull trip include my mother hurting her back ­falling down some stairs and, unrelatedly, deer poo. The B&B owner taught me how to tell which sex of deer had defecated by ­studying the shape of the deposit. I was the type of child who found that absolutely fascinating. Anyway, that is by the by. The main recollection is my disbelief that Mull was in fact, an island.

How could it be, I wondered, having nothing but Tiree to compare it to. Islands have no trees, they are flat and the ferry takes ages. I continued to ponder for many years why the 45-minute crossing to Mull involved a ferry with a ball pit, and the four-hour ferry to Tiree had nothing but a range of gambling machines. I’ve ­answered that one as an adult, but it still feels like quite the injustice.

When I first set foot in Lewis, I ­remember being shocked that the houses weren’t painted white. After all, weren’t all island houses neatly whitewashed as ours was? I wasn’t overly enamoured with Skye either, as where were the beautiful beaches? My Skye granny would no doubt have been horrified at my disdain.

No island is quite like the other. Some are crowned with mountain peaks, ­covered in trees and beset by deer and mink. Others are – as Billy Connolly ­famously described Tiree – like a billiard table. No four-legged fiends here; instead, we are beset by two-legged ones in the form of geese.

Some islands, like Lewis, retain strong populations of Gaelic speakers. Others long since lost their vernacular, ­communities and along with them, their native language or dialect.

Harris has its own gritter lorries and a swimming pool. We have two tired ­council employees, a flatbed Transit, some shovels and the sea.

We share a bin lorry with Coll. I ­imagine mainland Shetland luxuriates in more than one. Canna got rid of all its rats. My recent encounter in the shed suggests we have a way to go.

As with most things in life, one size does not fit all. Crofting land is ­different, landscapes are different. ­Ferries are ­different. Jura, for example, has a council-run ferry to connect it to ­Islay. Last winter, a picture circulated of the rusty ladder (now replaced) they had to traverse to board the backup craft whilst the existing ferry was unavailable. Breaking our necks while trying to get to work or school isn’t a concern we have – not least because a daily commute via ferry from Tiree is logistically impossible.

Despite differences which are ­obvious to many of us who live in them, the ­“islands” are too often referred to at a ­political level as a single entity – the ­implicit assumption being that they all ­operate in basically the same way.

At the highest level, our ­prevailing problems do appear identical. ­Almost ­universally, they relate to ­housing, ­transport, connectivity and ­infrastructure. But they vary in many ways – not least by context and urgency.

The potential solutions are not the same either because by their very ­nature, different islands require different ­approaches. To date, that seems to have been something of an anathema to most policymakers. If it has a boat, it goes into the “island drawer”. Things in the island drawer are then subjected to a range of policies which make no-one happy.

Following the guidance in the ­National Islands Plan, new policies should be ­“island-proofed”. Further, they should be subjected to an “Island Communities Impact Assessment”. Both of these things are commendable in principle. But to be effective, they need to be applied in a way which understands that not all islands function like Arran or Mull. Neither are they all like Tiree or Unst.

In reality, I have yet to be convinced that either of these initiatives are worth the paper they are written on. I’ve not yet seen a policy emerge that effectively “island-proofs” its outcomes at a macro level, never mind at a micro one. And I don’t know who is being consulted about the impacts for an impact assessment, but few islanders seem to be involved.

It was with trepidation then, that I read about a new Scottish Islands Typology published by the Scottish Government. I am delighted to report, however, that it is just what the doctor ordered.

The new typology is based on Gow’s Typology of Scotland’s Islands, which was published last year. As part of an ­internship with the Scottish Government, Kirsten Gow, of Jura, was tasked with looking at the potential to develop and ­expand her research in a policy context. The result shows the value of getting ­people involved who have a deep understanding of islands, in the plural.

Rather than compare islands to the mainland – which is so often the default position – Gow’s work classifies islands into 10 categories based on combinations of population, access to local amenities, and access to mainland Scotland. It offers an alternative way to compare the differences and similarities between islands by comparing them against each other.

The comparisons take into account population levels over time; the availability of specific amenities and services in each island, and access to services and markets beyond an island’s borders via scheduled ferry routes. For amenities, it prioritises access to schooling, GP practices and hospitals, grocery stores, and fuel outlets. These are all critical things which vary widely from island to island.

There is no mention of “remote” or ­“accessible”. Urban-centric terms are ditched in favour of such terms as “connected”, “independent”, and “reliant”. In this context, interesting parallels arise.

Barra, Tiree, Unst, Whalsay and Yell score similarly – and thus sit in an ­“Independent Outer Isles” category. The description is recognisable – relatively low levels of ferry access to mainland Scotland but generally good access to amenities and services on-island relative to other islands. Gow notes that these ­islands have mid to low population levels which are mainly declining.

Our neighbour Coll scored much lower, putting it in the “Reliant Outer Isles” category – the population is ­lower, the amenities fewer, and there is no choice but for secondary school pupils to board in Oban.

“Connected Independent Islands” ­includes Arran, Bute, Mull and ­mainland Orkney. They are identified as having good levels of access to amenities and ­services both on and off the island ­relative to other islands, along with higher than average and, for the most part, growing populations.

“Independent Hub Islands” includes Islay, Lewis, Harris and Uist (including the linked islands in the chain). These are characterised by high populations and good levels of island-based services but they had much lower scores for their ­ferry connections with mainland Scotland than Connected Independent Islands

The classifications will not please ­everyone. Skye and Seil, for example, are given fairly short shrift by virtue of ­being literally connected to the ­mainland. That alone shows the challenges of ­island ­comparison and classification.

There may be quibbling over details, but the fact that this has been published by the Scottish Government is a huge step in the right direction.

It’s a refreshing piece of work which powerfully illustrates the diverse nature of Scotland’s islands and concludes by noting that it, “provides a new classification system which policymakers may wish to use when considering the impact of their work on island communities”.

Indeed. Maybe the next iteration of the National Islands Plan should suggest that they must.