What began as a deeply personal fascination with the history of St Kilda has, over the past 18 months, evolved into something far more meaningful than I could ever have imagined.

After my first visit to the island some 17 years ago, I became captivated by the thought of what life must once have been like for the St Kildans who lived in such isolation on the edge of the Atlantic. From that moment, I carried a quiet dream of somehow returning to the island for an extended stay — not simply as a visitor, but in some small way to experience a connection with its past.

It was this dream that led me to what many might consider a rather idiosyncratic idea: learning how to weave so that I could propose to the National Trust for Scotland the revival of St Kilda tweed — a craft that had disappeared almost 100 years ago — as the basis for permission to live and work on the island for a time.

But since receiving that permission, the project itself has taken on a far deeper purpose.

Through the knowledge, encouragement and generosity of so many people who have followed and contributed to this journey, my aim has evolved beyond simply recreating a lost textile tradition. It has become about honouring the memory, resilience and ingenuity of the St Kildan people themselves, while also helping — in however small a way — to raise awareness of the critically endangered Soay and Boreray sheep breeds whose wool once gave St Kilda tweed its unique character.

What began as curiosity has become a tribute, a responsibility, and perhaps even a small act of preservation.