EGFO - Foula, Shetland Islands, GB

World Heritage Sites Air Adventure: No Time to Die – A Shetland Whodunit
By DI Jimmy Perez, Shetland Police

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Episode 7: Foula (EGFO) – 26th May 2025
On this Memorial Day, Cropduster’s Tiger Shark Squadron paused to honor fallen friends and teammates—many among them with storied military backgrounds and memories of comrades lost.

Having lifted off the gravel runway at PSV / EG79 – Papa Stour, we set course for our next destination, which is Foula—rising from the sea like the back of some ancient beast, its cliffs sheer and wild. As we land, South Ness Lighthouse flashes and the wind batters the wings. In Ham, the island’s only village, the pub is alive with tales—selkies, shipwrecks, and now, a stranger.

Cropduster’s Tiger Shark Squadron’s support crew arrived in style, landing their C-130 Hercules, Maui, on Foula’s short, rugged airfield—a feat well within the aircraft’s legendary short-field and unprepared strip capabilities. Before heading to the pub, the crew made a quick stop at Foula Primary School. The children’s faces lit up as we delivered boxes of school supplies—new books, art materials, and even a globe for their tiny classroom. Their teacher, Mrs. Tulloch, thanked us, saying,
"It’s not every day that folk from another island—one so far away—think of us out here."

The squadron’s generosity left a mark on the island as bright as the lighthouse beam.

Meanwhile, some of our support crew found warm beds and Shetland hospitality at Leraback B&B. Over hearty breakfasts and stories by the fire, they swapped tales with Mrs. Jamieson, the proprietor, who seemed to know every secret the wind carried across the moors.

Back at the pub, Melina Havelock, the owner, served steaming bowls of fish soup—haddock and tatties with cream and dill—alongside oatcakes, smoked mackerel, and bottles of Simmer Dim Ale. The air was thick with peat smoke and a faint tang of cigar.

An old crofter, Grampa Bond, his hands rough from lambing and famous for overstaying his welcome, leaned in:
"Aye, du’s askin’ aboot him, are du? He wis mendin’ up da auld croft, kept tae himsel’. Asked if da plane tae Fair Isle wis still runnin’. Left a bundle o’ papers and a napkin wi’ a flight plan—Fair Isle, 27th May. Left a cigar stub in da bothy—smelled o’ foreign lands. Mind du, Foula’s a place whaar da haar can roll in quick as a blink, and da cliffs are nae place for da faint-hearted. He left half his pint and a cloud o’ smoke. If du hears da skriechin o’ da swaabie, it’s best tae bide inside."

Locals know Grampa Bond as Roger George Moore, a secretive man originally from Stockwell, London.

The old men by the fire nodded,
"Foula’s da last place folk vanish wi’out a trace. But if he’s runnin’, he’ll no get far on dese cliffs. It’s a mercy da dogs dinna mind da wind."

Outside, Cropduster’s two super-intelligent dogs, Lani and Kai, exchanged a knowing glance. Their alert posture and low whine signaled to us all: the end of the search for the stranger is drawing near.

Tucked into the napkin, I found a phrase written in Russian: For your eyes only. I wonder how many languages this man has used to say goodbye.

Stay sharp out there, and watch the mist.

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