By Ruth Watson
Bere may well have been grown for thousands of years in Orkney but, for this ferry-louper, it was a revelation. I was lucky enough to work as a journalist in the Northern Isles in the 80s and 90s and was first introduced to this local grain with a long history when reporting on new developments at the Barony Mill, in Birsay, for BBC Radio Orkney. Back then, as a cub reporter, I didn’t really understand at first just how important bere was to the living culture of the community, nor how vital the mill was to its survival.
Some months later, I was out walking my dog across the hills near my home overlooking Stenness, just a few miles from the mill. The Orkney scenery was doing its thing: big skies, big seas, hares getting up ahead of me, whaups rising (their distinctive cries still transport me north when I hear them today) then, as I came back down a track towards a farmyard, I heard a shout! Some young cattle were being moved. One had dodged past the farmhand and was heading for me – and the vast acres of open hills beyond. There was a look of desperation on all the faces looking at me, they knew there would be many hours of work to get the young beast back and I could tell they didn’t hold out much hope that this wee quine would be much use at stopping the escapee. Happily, my dog was a rottweiler, a drover’s breed with a bold eye. She was, of course, on a lead and was used to cattle, as was I. As the cantering stirk bounded towards us, my dog seemed to double in size as she set herself before me and I waved my other arm, gamely. To everyone’s relief, the prospect of a byre and some hay suddenly seemed more appealing than the hills and the young beast trotted back to the safety of the yard.
I found myself warmly invited into the farmhouse and was soon sitting at a table filled with baking and much tea. In front of me was a fresh bere bannock, something I had never tried before. I popped a wee dollop of home-made jam on a warm crust, to everyone else’s surprise. They hadn’t realised that I had no idea what I was doing and gently suggested it would go better with some of the Orkney cheeses, which also were on the table. They were right, of course. The sharp, bitter taste of the bannock was slightly overwhelming and entirely unsuited to sweet jam, but went very well with the cheese.
I always thought it was the bere which gave the bannock that distinctive flavour and dense depth, so was astounded to try it in bread recently and find it is as meek in flavour and as soft in texture as wholemeal flour, but with all the additional health benefits of the bere, beta glucan being one example. It is much easier to find Orkney bere as more outlets now sell Barony Mill flour, so my adventures with bere, and the happy memories that little grain evokes for me, continue.
Contact Ruth Watson: ruth@watsonconsultants.scot. Ruth is a journalist specialising in food, drink and agriculture. She is food and drink ambassador for Bioregioning Tayside.
Ed: many thanks to Ruth for sharing these early experiences of bere and Barony Mill in Orkney well before the Living Field’s interest in the bere crop and flour.
For previous articles on bere and other landraces on the Living Field web, try: Bere barley at the Living Field, the Bere line – rhymes with hairline, Landrace 1 – bere.