Skirly Crag: a hill in the Scottish highlands, in the heart of which nestles a very special lochan.

Helen Percy’s working life as a shepherd takes her away from her home in the lee of her beloved Skirly Crag for many months of the year.

Forget beribboned Bo-Peep dresses. Think instead unbecoming waterproofs, the same shirt worn for a week, jeans smeared with gobs of birth-fluid and mustard-coloured lamb-skitter. Calf-length crinoline gowns are so out of fashion for the modern shepherdess!

Why do I do this job, I ask myself? Why am I up at sparrow’s fart each day, with no days off, a pitiful rate of pay and bosses who are variously cantankerous, cussed or crazy?

Then there is a rare day on the hill when the lark rises into the clear air above Skirly Crag, thrilling the glen with its reedy melody, and all is well with the world.