Performed by Marjolein Robertson

What you see above is a Trow (Trowie/Drow).

Think a Norwegian troll, but shorter. Much shorter. Shorter than that. Not that short.

About the size of a child, this three-foot creature of the folklore of Shetland has a richly ancient appreciation for music, spirituality, and a jolly hearty swally. They’re a resident of the dens and caves of Shetland folklore, very much a remnant of the island’s history as a Scandinavian history. And though you may spot a few similarities with a few other creatures of the fae world of myth and story, the Trow is entirely for the Shetlanders. Until now.

Known for their fondness for musicians – the Trow occasionally lead nearby human musicians into their dens and underground homes. This particular tale, taking elements from various accounts and Joan Dey’s words, weaves the Trow through a particularly harrowing time for a humble family, and the losses they face, but the love for one another they shared.

Comedian, award-winning storyteller, performer, and Shetlander Marjolein Robertson extends a warm and sincere welcome to audiences, many unfamiliar with the story she is about to share, and just as unfamiliar with the island’s dialect and language. But that’s not an issue here – even with the kindness extended into offering more direct English translations mid-story, Robertson’s commendable manner of overcoming barriers makes this performance one which speaks to all.

In a stark choice, though one which serves the tone remarkably, movement is limited to Robertson’s expressive face, hand gestures and occasional sway in the light: their body remains largely stationary, centre-stage throughout. The intonation of the storytelling conveys a purity in which any momentum or flittering around the stage would diminish. There are light-hearted moments, and there’s ‘action’ in a sense, but the focus is on the storytelling, narrative and character.

But there is an additional source of storytelling here; the lighting. Initially, there isn’t much else besides Roberton’s performance, but some audiences may find themselves so enraptured that they don’t (at first) notice the lighting changes. The colour and palette are so vivid in their description that it’s initially just the warmth of the story lifting, or the chill of suffering as the coldness creeps in.

Robertson’s version is the less melancholy of the tale’s variations. But it works perfectly for the tone they’re looking to achieve – an encouragement of the tale, rather than scaring audiences away. Clean, Robertson’s storytelling and instant charm are what connects audiences at first, the story itself is what keeps them invested.

Flawlessly, sombrely, and enchantingly told, A Shetland Fairytale isn’t looking to revolutionise the craft but push the boundaries of the audience’s experiences and horizons. It just asks for a touch of belief and an ear to listen. It seeks to pay homage to both the art of storytelling and bring to light a part of our cultural heritage that isn’t offered enough opportunity to be as ingrained in the cultural zeitgeist as Kelpies, Selkies, Bodachs and Sidhes.