Only a hundred-odd people live here, in grey stone cottages at one end of the island. Much of the island is a nature reserve where rare fritillary butterflies flutter over marsh orchids and tall blue spikes of viper's bugloss. Eider ducks, Cuthbert's favourites and still known affectionately as 'Cuddy's ducks', float around the shoreline with broods of fluffy ducklings. The island's nature trail leads down the craggy coast to a medieval castle restored as a residence by Edwin Lutyens, the architect of New Delhi, from where there are splendid views of the Farne Islands. Cuthbert had retired to meditate on the Farne Islands—a thousand years ago his hermit's cell would have been the main attraction but now it's the colonies of nesting seabirds. We boarded a boat and chugged towards the hordes of guillemots and puffins. On Inner Farne, a notice awaits: 'Watch where you step—two tern chicks killed today.' Arctic terns, cute creatures with coral red bills, had laid eggs by the path and the chicks were now tottering around unchaperoned. As we arrived, the adults wheeled around our heads, crying wildly and pecking our heads. No wonder visitors, flailing arms and all, caused the occasional fatality.
