Orkney storyteller Fran Flett Hollinrake shares the story of Triduana and the Miracle of Papay

A big thank you to Orkney storyteller Fran Flett Hollinrake, who I am delighted to welcome to the blog. Fran shares with us the story of Triduana and her personal experience with the saint.

The Miracle of Papay

 

It has been my pleasure and privilege over the last 10 years to look after the splendid 12^th-century St Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall. Killed in c1117, Magnus was canonised in around 1135, and the cathedral bearing his name was founded two years later. In the Middle Ages, Magnus’s shrine was an important site of pilgrimage in Northern Europe - thousands of pilgrims a year made their way to Kirkwall to venerate his remains and ask for his intercession. Although the Reformation in 1560 put an end to saints, relics and veneration, Magnus is still regarded as the ‘patron saint’ of Orkney, and his bones were discovered in 1919, buried within a pillar of the choir.

 

But Magnus is not the only saint to have been accorded reverence in these islands. There was also his nephew Rognvald, who built the cathedral and was elevated to sainthood after his own death. One of the most richly-endowed altars in the cathedral was that of St Duthac, whose burial place was in Tain in the Black Isle, also a pilgrimage site in Medieval times. And, in common with other northern European communities, St Lucy was venerated as the ‘bringer of light’, celebrated on 13 December; this is Magnus’s second feast day, commemorating his ‘translation’ and burial in the cathedral on that date.

 

And in Papay, one of Orkney’s smallest islands, can be found a memory of a remarkable saint, Triduana.

 

The story of St Triduana begins many miles from Orkney, and there are several versions of her tale; this is just one.

 

Following the crucifixion of Christ, the disciples of Jesus travelled throughout the known world to spread the Word of God. They met various unpleasant ends, as early Christian martyrs. Legend says that Andrew, one of Christ’s beloved ‘Fishers of men’ and brother of St Peter, made his way to Greece, and was ultimately crucified in the town of Patras, supposedly on a diagonal cross. Andrew’s remains were kept at Patras, but in the 4^th century, a monk called Regulus (or Rule) had a dream in which he was instructed to spirit away the relics of Andrew and take them to the furthest, outermost reaches of the Christian world. Acting on these instructions, he set sail with a selection of the disciple’s bones, and found himself shipwrecked off Fife in Scotland. Regulus and his followers hauled themselves up on to the shore of a little fishing village called Kilrymont…soon to be renamed St Andrews, and thereafter home to the saint’s shrine, the largest cathedral in Scotland, and a major site of pilgrimage.

 

But Regulus did not travel alone. According to one version of the story, his retinue included a young Greek girl named Triduana, an early follower of Christ who had risked her life on that perilous sea voyage. Once in Scotland, her beauty drew the attention of a local Pictish (and pagan) chief named Nechtan, who found himself entranced. He pressed his suit quite ardently, but to no avail. Triduana declared herself wedded to God – she would never marry or bear children. Nechtan was very put out, and berated her, saying that it was her fault as her beautiful eyes had bewitched him. Triduana, nothing daunted, declared that if he liked her eyes so much, he was very welcome to have them. Whereupon she gouged out her own eyes, stuck them on a twig, and presented them to the bewildered chief (who probably found his ardour cooling rapidly).

 

Despite her self-inflicted blindness, Triduana survived, and went on to found a nunnery in the Scottish Lowlands, at Restalrig, now part of Edinburgh. There are two churches dedicated to her there, one of which housed her relics until the Reformation. There is also a wellhouse covering a spring, said to have healing properties. The healing cult of Triduana was supported by King James III, and pilgrims would visit her shrine and holy well in the hope of cures from eye diseases.

 

In the Middle Ages relics were often given as gifts, and it is likely that something associated with St Triduana (perhaps a bone, or a fragment of clothing) made its way to Orkney in the 12^th or 13^th century….which brings us to the small island of Papa Westray – or Papay as it is known locally. This small island, just over three square miles in area, is home to several notable prehistoric monuments, as well as a small fresh-water loch. Known as St Tredwell’s Loch (Tredwell is a local variant of Triduana, also known in Norway as Troellhaena), the shallow water contains the remains of a Bronze Age crannog, some 3,000 years old. Crannogs were found in lochs throughout Scotland – they were usually round-ish in shape and accessed through a bridge or causeway. Later, that crannog served as the base for a stone broch, a type of round tower found in Scotland about 2,000 years ago. Later still, the ruins of the crannog and broch provided the foundations for a small medieval stone chapel, dedicated to St Triduana, or St Tredwell. The saint’s reputation for curing eye diseases drew people from all over the islands, and pilgrims were recorded as visiting well into the 19^th century, in the hope of help or healing from the saint. Some sources say that to gain maximum efficiency, the supplicant had either to walk around the loch three times, or bathe their eyes in the healing water, or even to submerge themselves fully in the shallow but chilly waters. The chapel is a ruin now, just fragments of low stone walls remain.

 

This legend had some resonance for me in the early 2010s, when I was booked to perform as a storyteller at the island’s Papay Gyro Nights Festival. The organisers had contacted me in December, asking if I would like to come across to the Festival, due to be held in February. I was happy to say yes, especially as my pal and storytelling buddy Tom Muir was also going to be there. I was also, half-jokingly, half-seriously, hoping to get some help for an eye condition from which I was suffering at the time. In late summer my right eye had started to weep continuously, and on bad days it was swollen and red. I had visited my GP who had diagnosed viral conjunctivitis, and whose advice was just to ‘ride it out’ as there was little medically that would help. I was bathing my eye in chamomile tea and using eye drops, but nothing seemed to help, so I spent a lot of time with my hair draped over my right eye, hoping that no-one would notice.

 

Come February, my eye had not improved, so I informed Tom of my intention to pay a visit to Tredwell/Triduana. He was keen to accompany me as he had never walked out to the chapel site before – I was also relieved he was coming, in case I fell in. We flew to Papay and enjoyed the world’s shortest scheduled flight (about ninety seconds in the air) before landing in Papay and making our way to the hostel. After a cup of tea we decided to set off for St Tredwell’s Loch. It was a bright, cold, windy day, and I had forgotten my sunglasses so my eyes were in a terrible way by the time we got to the ruined chapel. We clambered through the previous year’s dead crop of nettles and hogweed, and scrambled up onto the low ruined walls. We had a look around, trying to identify bits of the church, and spoke a bit about Triduana and her legacy, and what the Papay people might have thought. After a while we made our way back to the path and walked to the hostel. After another cup of tea we headed off to our first gig, and were soon swept away in the Festival happenings, performances, bonfires, and whisky drinking.

 

The next morning, with slightly fuzzy heads, we boarded the flight back to Kirkwall. As the tiny plane rose into the air and flew over Papay, I looked down to see St Tredwell’s loch sparking like a jewel in the early spring sunshine. My mind went back to the day before, and our ‘pilgrimage’ to the chapel. Suddenly shocked, I turned to Tom and demanded that he look at my eye. He peered closely, folded his arms, huffed slightly, and declared that it would appear to be cured. He was right. No weeping, no swelling, no redness. My eye was fine! I was astonished; I hadn’t walked three times round the loch, I hadn’t bathed my eye in the water or drank it…but we had visited the site in a spirit of respect and reverence, at least. Triduana, it seems, had been listening.

 

A week or so later I received a call from my GP, telling me that the eye specialist was due in Orkney, and did I want him to make me an appointment. No need, I declared, I’m cured! My GP expressed surprise and asked if I had done anything or whether it had just gone away of its own accord. Well, I said, you might not believe this…and I told him about my visit to St Triduana. He laughed delightedly and asked me what he should write on my medical notes. Whatever you like, I replied, but as far as I’m concerned, I was cured by a saint.

 

A year or two later I went back to visit, and took a small offering to St Tredwell’s Loch, as a token of appreciation. It was only fair. I relayed this story to a few folk, and friends in Papay started to tell others, and it became a tale told on the Peedie Papay Tour. I am delighted to say that not only has my eye never been troubled again, but I am now immortalized in Papay folklore.

 

Here is a close up photo of the window in St Magnus Cathedral (taken by me), and a photo of St Tredwell’s Loch, taken by the Papay Ranger, John Ford.

photo courtesy of Fran Flett Hollinrake

  

photo courtesy of John Ford