For thirsty travellers arriving in the northeast harbour town of Wick, battered by the elements, whipped by the North Sea winds or just weary from the road, a stiff drink may well have been in order.

And for the fishermen who risked their lives bringing home the catch, a celebratory half to mark getting back unscathed, probably wouldn’t have gone amiss.

But 100 years ago this month – and surely at odds with the ‘anything goes’ popular image of the Roaring Twenties – the Caithness town of Wick was waiting with baited breath to find out if the days of a warming tipple in the local pub were numbered.

Much to the fury of the local licensed trade and their loyal customers who had fought tooth and nail against a vote to outlaw drink in the town - and to the great relief of local temperance movement followers - a Court of Session ruling in April 1922 cleared the way for prohibition.

It was the start of an astonishing 25-year dry spell in the Royal Burgh – nearly twice as long as prohibition lasted in America - with no alcohol licences permitted, pubs shut, and some very inventive townsfolk determined, by hook or by crook, to enjoy a dram.

Prohibition, often thought of as a 1920s American crackdown on alcohol which led to underground Speakeasy joints, bootlegging and organised crime, came to the northeast of Scotland amid concerns of the hard-drinking exploits of the fishing crews which visited the bustling harbour.

In its late 19th century heyday, Wick had more fishing boats than any other European port: records show that there were more than 1,000 based in the town for the 1862 season, almost quadrupling its population.

With more than 41 licensed premises in Wick and neighbouring Pulteneytown, it was estimated that more than 800 gallons of whisky, or 5,000 bottles of the hard stuff, were consumed each week.

Inevitably, it brought outbreaks of fighting and drunken behaviour which, according to Ian Leith of heritage group the Wick Society, did not go down particularly well with the town’s women.

“There were a lot of pubs around the harbour area, and with the fishing industry there was a lot of whisky flowing,” he says.

“People were coming off the boats, getting paid and not taking their full wage home.

“The town’s women were beginning to feel hard done by, and the men’s wages were not necessarily going to the household.”

In the background, he adds, were the rising voices of the temperance movement.

The British Association for the Promotion of Temperance formed in 1835 and although it did not object to the consumption of beer or wine, it promoted strict abstinence from spirits.

However, as time passed, support for total abstinence movement grew, and by 1900 around 10% of the UK population were teetotal.

The Temperance (Scotland) Act offered local communities the chance to stage a vote for or against the sale of alcohol in their town.

With many in Wick – particularly the harbour town’s women, members of the Wick and District No Licence and Temperance Union and church officials - blaming the demon drink for violence and crime, a vote was held on 10 December 1920.

Although 61% of the townsfolk vote in favour of prohibition furious publicans, grocers and alcohol sellers who saw their businesses suddenly at risk of collapse, refused to accept the decision and mounted a string of legal challenges, including a claim that the polls had been rigged.

It took until April 1922 and a judgment from the Court of Session in Edinburgh for the poll to finally be declared valid, paving the way for prohibition to begin.

Yet according to Ian, while prohibition meant Wick was officially a drink-free zone, thirsty locals still managed to quench their urge for a tipple.

One way of getting around the ban was to make your own.

“There were a number of Illicit stills hidden in the hillsides,” he says. “While there is said to have been at least one man in town who went around wearing a long overcoat with numerous pockets which concealed at least a bottle or two.”

Passers-by who happened to have their own tumbler could stop him and enjoy a quick snifter.

One local, Wullie Thomson, was said to have evaded the police for 15 years, running his illicit still just a couple of miles from the town’s police station with his uncle and cousin. The operation was so sophisticated, they even grew their own barley.

Others used skills learned in the First World War trenches of the Somme to camouflage their stills on hillsides and beneath undergrowth.

Some particularly cunning individuals are said to have invented illnesses, knowing that doctors at the time would prescribe alcohol as a cure. While mobile grocery vans adopted a system of secret signals and strategically placed objects to alert passers-by that they could pop in for supplies.

Ian adds: “There was also said to be a teashop that always had a teapot in the window. Depending on the particular direction that the spout was pointing towards, was an indication of whether customers could go in for a drink.”

Locals also enjoyed regular away days to nearby towns where the rules were not so tight.

“In those days there was a train from Wick to Lybster, which was not a dry town,” adds Ian. “It had three pubs, so the train to Lybster was a very popular journey at weekends.

“There are tales of people from Wick arriving off the train and falling off it.”

The Second World War brought an influx of servicemen to the town, and a relaxation of the rules for hoteliers who – perhaps not dissimilar to more modern Covid rules - were able to serve drink to guests as long as they were sitting down at tables.

Despite opposition from some, the rule was said to be a resounding success: between May and August of 1922, just one person was reported to police for drunkenness in the town, compared to around 30 over the same period the previous year.

Local churchman, Rev W. H. Millar, told local newspapers at the time that prohibition brought a wealth of benefits: “The difference for good became manifest immediately,” he said.

“The streets, even when crowded on Saturday evenings are thoroughly sober and orderly. There are many people in Wick who have not seen a drunken man since it went dry.

“The language of the streets has improved. The work at the harbour is not jeopardised or hindered by carters and motor lorry drivers flushed with whisky. Skippers are not delayed by some of their crews being tempted into the public house when on shore. There is despatch and geniality.”

The ban on alcohol split the town between “wets” and “drys” for years. Several public votes were held which kept prohibition kept in place until a final ballot saw just over 55% of people vote for the ban being lifted.

By the time prohibition in the town ended in December, 1946, there had been another world war and the once busy harbour was a shadow of its former self, with the herring fishing industry decimated by over-fishing.

The lifting of prohibition was suitably celebrated, says Ian, adding that some in the town may feel inspired to mark the 100th anniversary by raising a glass.

“Other towns in Scotland also went dry but none for as long as Wick," he adds, "even though it was probably no worse than many other areas."