The Quarry Wood by Nan Shepherd

I loved Shepherd’s The Living Mountain, which I read last year, and when I discovered that she had also written three novels I was keen to read them. The Quarry Wood is the first of Shepherd’s novels and was first published in 1928. It follows a young woman named Martha Ironside who lives in a rural farming community near Aberdeen. Martha’s mother married ‘beneath her’ and no one has high expectations of Martha, but she is determined to study and make something of herself and has to work doubly hard in order to do so.

The novel is a coming-of-age story, and an overcoming-the-odds story and beautifully written. Martha is intelligent and tenacious, and her character is alive and kicking from the opening paragraph of the story:

“Martha Ironside was nine years old when she kicked her great-aunt Josephine. At nineteen she loved the old lady, idly perhaps, in her natural humour, as she loved the sky and space. At twenty-four, when Miss Josephine Leggatt died, aged seventy-nine and reluctant, Martha knew that it was she who had taught her wisdom; thereby proving – she reflected – that man does not learn from books alone; because Martha had kicked Aunt Josephine (at the age of nine) for taking her fom her books.”

Throughout the book, Martha has to overcome the obstacles put in her way by her family, her class and her sex. Going to school and university as a female was unusual at the time the book was written, and Martha faces a lot of obstacles as a result of her sex:

“She came home from long crowded days in schools and lecture-rooms to make the supper, set the house to rights, prepare as far as she could the next day’s dinner; and rose in raw black mornings to get breakfast ready and attend to Emmeline’s wants.”

As well as gaining a degree, Martha falls in love, cares for her relatives, is the subject of malicious gossip and builds herself a career. The events of the novel are not fast-paced, but I found it to be a very engaging story full of the exquisite details and images which populate The Living Mountain. The novel is set in the area where Shepherd lived for most of her life, close to where I now live, and I relished the details of life from a hundred years ago. Shepherd was an educated female and university tutor, and I imagine that a lot of the details concerning Martha’s education and the struggles of being a female scholar in a male-dominated world were also close to her own experiences growing up (though I in no way want to diminish Shepherd’s writing skills in supposing this – it is more that the story rang very true for me).

The only thing I struggled with reading this book was the dialogue; although the narration is in standard English the dialogue, of which there is a lot, is in Scots and a local dialect. There is a glossary at the end of the book but I preferred to let the dialogue wash over me a little – enjoying its rhythm and not understanding every word but coming away with the general jist. I especially enjoyed the hundred-year-old Scot’s version of telling someone who has left a door open that they were ‘born in a barn’:

“Ye wad think ye was born in a cairt-shed faur there wasna a door.”

And there is a lot of humour generally in the book, especially in the dialogue. It does get easier to read once you get into the rhythm of it, and I’m speaking as an English woman who has read a little in Scots but is certainly no expert.

I am not sure why The Quarry Wood is not more widely read, like Sunset Song, for example, which was written around the same time. But I know that The Living Mountain is being more widely read now and I hope to see more being made of Nan Shepherd’s small but tremendous body of work.

The Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd

I read this book in February, and was expecting it to both ease and deepen my lockdown blues, which it did. The beauty of the descriptions of the Cairngorms, which are only an hour or so drive from where I live, were out of bounds during the lockdown and reading this made me long to escape there. But this book is also about small beauty, about spending time in a place and really getting to know it.

Nan Shepherd walked, lived and slept in the Cairngorms, in all seasons and all weathers. She makes so many beautiful observations in such a slim volume. It is part celebration of nature and part celebration of life. Even as she records her experiences Shepherd reflects that:

“…they are not in the books for me – they are in living encounters, moments in their life that have crossed moments of mine.”

Yet she has managed to capture so much in her writing, the book is full of moments set out for the reader – the fall of snow on the mountain, the changing light, the plants, animals and people who live there. She made me reconsider what it is to know a place, and one of the revelations for me was in how she talked about getting away from conquering summits and instead looked for what else she could find – hidden ridges or lochs or lower plateaus. I get summit fever whenever I go walking but over the past year have trained myself to look and listen to what is around me more, as Nan Shepherd advocates.

The part which did make me sad was Shepherd’s belief that:

“No one knows the mountain completely who has not slept on it. As one slips over into sleep, the mind grows limpid; the body melts; perception alone remains.”

I am sure I am not alone in this, but whenever I go for a walk by myself – especially somewhere remote or quiet – I find myself looking over my shoulder from time to time, conscious that I am a female walking alone and I cannot completely relax or drift off in the way that Shepherd seems to. Perhaps things were different then, she does not mention dangers aside from the risk of death from a fall or getting caught in bad weather. Or perhaps the danger was there and she managed to not let it distract her.

Before I started to read The Living Mountain, I was delighted to discover that Nan Shepherd lived very close to where I live now, so close that I pass the house she lived in often. Despite not being able to visit the Cairngorms, I took great comfort in my local walks by the River Dee knowing that Nan Shepherd probably walked the same paths when she wasn’t climbing mountains. As beautiful and moving as Shepherd’s observations are, I felt this book was an invitation to go and see for yourself, go and experience for yourself, the natural world.