Of course I knew James Rebanks’s name as a Cumbrian farmer, author and occasional broadcaster. I heard him talking to Michael Berkley on Radio 3’s Private Passions too so had gleaned a bit of his life story including, an Oxford degree in history before deciding to return to the family farm. Until now, however, I had never read any of his books. Then one of my RFs (I hope you’re keeping up) recommended this 2025 title. And reading it turned out to be a delightful voyage of discovery.
The down of the eider duck is the warmest insulator known to man. The feisty, determined ducks produce it to line their nests in their sub-zero, arctic habitat. Once they head back to sea with their ducklings the down-lined nests are abandoned and human beings can harvest the left-over down. Hence the “eiderdowns” my generation all had on our childhood beds although I bet most of them were, in reality, stuffed with chicken or goose feathers because, as I have now learned, eider is an expensive, labour-intensive minority product.
Rebanks discovered that although the traditional quasi-cottage industry has declined substantially in recent years, pockets of it remain in northern Norway. At a time when he was questioning his own life and work and feeling a bit purposeless, he arranged to join Anna who annually spends several weeks on a remote island building nest boxes and caring for the ducks and, eventually gathering down.
Anna is a richly drawn character. She became a “duck woman” (Rebanks admits this is a clumsy translation from Norwegian) in midlife after a conventional mainland career. Now a septuagenarian, she understands the weather, the birds, their habits with well-honed intuition. She reads signs in nature like a sorceress and yet she also has a mobile phone and enjoys a cigarette. Rebanks gradually learns and shares her backstory and, in the process, tells us a lot about life in this part of Norway, abandoned, inevitably, by many younger people who have gone to work in Oslo. It takes Anna a long time to accept and respect her lodger/assistant/student. At first she doesn’t want him there at all and is very resentful although occasionally grateful for his masculine strength and stamina. She herself is not particularly well and reluctantly winding down because this is to be her last year on the island.
Anna and Rebanks are accompanied by her friend Ingrid who clearly understands the work pretty well. But it’s Anna who is inarguably in charge – as they engage in the heavy physical work involved in providing the maximum number of nesting sites. Perhaps Ingrid (supported by her husband) will take it over next year or maybe the island’s owner has other ideas. The future of the island is uncertain.
The number of nesting eider is dropping year by year which, of course suggests an environmental issue. Nonetheless the three of them gather a “reasonable” amount of down which then has to be cleaned – basically at first on the island and then later more radically. Their efforts will have provided the filling for one or two duvets … a luxury item indeed.
Rebanks excels at evoking the smells, sights and sensations of the titular place of tides. When it’s stormy you can feel the wind and when the ducks fly in you can hear their cries. And despite the remoteness there are still predators to be seen off. Mink, otter and skua, for example, are all opportunistic predators, hungry for a duck or duckling. Anna is well practised with a shot gun and always pragmatic.
Finally Rebanks returns to his much-missed wife, children and farm and the women go back to their mainland homes. Strong friendships have been formed and everyone one, including the reader, has learned a lot about different cultures. climates and ways of living. And as a historian Rebanks tells us a lot about the eider industry in the past.
I have read several books lately which took me to Russia. It’s a pleasant change to “go” to Norway – and to experience something so very far from my everyday concerns and activities. Fascinating.
Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves: The Honourable Member for Murder by David Weir
