It feels like everything in Orkney is made of stone, meant to last forever, and that includes the old stonework of Saint Magnus’ Cathedral.

The structure is Romanesque, and austere, with heavy, sturdy pillars built of red sandstone masonry, the kind it takes four people to surround, a strange stone forest again, built by the hands of men.

I returned to the cathedral because the heritage society documents suggested it housed more human remains than that of the saint, and when I saw you playing with the bones, Fiona, I thought this could lead to new revelations.

The most remarkable feats of humanity often come from its most wicked inclinations, and these triumphs start with bloodshed and sorrow, but life is brief, and so soon these tragedies are forgotten.

Betrayal, martyrdom, assassination, lust for power and wars, all the things that governed the lives of people in those older times, seem trite and insignificant when viewed through the lens of history, but the cathedral still stands, now aged nine hundred years.

And the Cairn of Maeshowe.

And the Ring of Brodgar.

And the happy underground homes of Skara Brae.