Codes of Survival -Scripts - a series of short factionalized stories based on historical events in the Subantarctic Islands written by Lloyd Godman to accompany the exhibition and installation - 1993 - © Lloyd Godman

Codes of Survival - Scripts

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I was sauntering along the river bank on a quiet morning in early autumn. It was a morning of great pleasure with the warm sun streaming through the turning colours of the willow trees, the large boughs casting long shadows across the rich green grass still dotted with the last few summer flowers. There was the sound of birds about their business in the hedge rows,  cattle in the distance, the gentle trickle of the  water across the worn rocks on the bank as the stream slipped disappearing under the many bridges that cris crossed her. 

Best of all, I had all the time in the world to wander through this tranquillity. It was a long way from the high seas and my work of an able seaman and of this time I now had at home in England with my cousin as I could hardly have asked for more.  Up around the next corner there was a long curl of blue smoke that slowly rose as a feather, wisp like into the air, twisting this way and that, almost at one with the harmony of this serene place. As I approached, I could make out the shape of two youthful figures tending the bonfire. Beside them was a great heap of interesting and assorted odds and ends that they were shifting through. They bid me 'hello' and stopped from their work to tattle about the pleasantness of the day as one does when they may meet a stranger.

After awhile I inquired as to their task, as while we had talked, I took note of the fact that the great pile before us contained many items from ships and the sea, so much so, it virtually smelt of the salt and this was an interest to me being a man of the sea myself.

To which they replied that, their old grand father had died not but the week before and they had this chore for the family of sorting through his possessions and cleaning his lodgings. The old man had been a man of the sea alright, 1st mate in fact and during his years at sea had brought back here to his abode any item that he had a fancy for. They said the family saw it as a real pandora's box and while much of it was just plain junk which was for the fire or they had piled on an old cart to be taken off to the village tip there  was also a few items of worth, which had quickly been snapped up by the rest of the family. It seemed the lads themselves had got very little of any value, and yet were stuck with this chore.

I roved a tighter eye over at the large pile and there lay all manner of items of good use to a seaman among the heap. Then, I thought back to the months we had spent as castaways on the Auckland Islands and here were these two burning and discarding some bloody good stuff, no doubt about it. They may not have understood their actions and could not answer for them, but I could hardly restrain myself and  without temperance and delay gave them both an earful of my thoughts.

"This is no junk to toss away you young fools" I began "Aye, you two should be in want for a few simple needs at some time, then you'd keep the lot my lads, aye yes the lot". They looked at me with a startle, the peace of the morning suddenly broken with my now abrupt voice. "A man can find a use for any of this if he has a need". I announced now in a much more serious tone than the pleasantries of our greeting.

Before they had an ounce of time to react or utter a sound, I broke out again. "I, my lads have been in real need, I know what the want of the most simple things can mean . I, stood close, so close to death that I know his eyes. I have seen them my lads, and they ain't to kind".

And then I began to spin out the whole tale and the terrible times of near starvation and the needs we had had.

"Aye, I've been shipwrecked in the cold of the subantarctic waters. "Me and my shipmates from the barque 'Dundonald', well, we had spent five months on Disappointment Island  initially and believe me the name is most apt, for that place, as a more cold and desolate place one could never wish for. It could break the heart and soul of the toughest and we had a few tough characters on our Barque , as tough as I ever sailed with my lads.  That suit of clothes on the fire there lads, now if we had possessed attire as warm as them, but no, what we's had was thin and ripped, no chance to keep out the cold or the rain that never stopped to fall from above.

We had to don our clothes in the dead of night, as we  struck that treacherous reef and floundered, and there was no time at all to dress real and proper if you understand.  The wind, it drove it in from the ocean as sharp as a  blade and numbed our limbs . It's an ill wind that blows  nobody any good, and it sure done that to us. And our  clothes were soaked through day and nights on end with rain. If only we'd had another set of dry warm clothes then lads.  I could never burn a stich in waste like this,  not a thread you hear.

Christ lads, them boots, ther'e far too good for the dump.  Why if only we all had boots at the time. You see we'd thrown them's away to get on dry land in case we'd have to swim,  but we got to shore, if you's can call perching on that great  rock cliff land, by means of a rope. Never touched the sea  and we had threw those boots off for nought. For nigh  on a few months all some of us had was socks and then's  only if's we'd been lucky. Imagine burying your feet in the  mud lads, to keep them warm at night, aye, can you  imagine that! Out in the open with rain just pouring  down and just mud to try and keep your feet warm.

The old spars there, You can't burn such an article for they have more purpose than that if one has the will. God knows we'd found some from our ship later when we'd crossed to the other island, but we had no strength to use them then, none at all. That other island was what we called the island of dreams. We'd look at that for days at a time through the grey mist that hung in the air ceaselessly and wish for a a crossing of that impossible savage ocean. For across there on that dream island, there was a depot for men with just the needs like us. A depot stocked with all stores we could ever have wished for, right on that island across the strait it was. 

When we'd at last crossed the strait, and stood on that stony beach, we'd found whole parts of our old ship thrown high up the beach and battered to bits by the storms on that island of dreams. The power of that ocean, for it could break to bits an iron barque and wrench the parts off the reef, then throw the lot up that beach of boulders more than six miles away in no time at all lads. God help a man that chanced to fall into the deep, for if the cold had'nt killed him the tumble of all that water would. All manner of debris lay about on that beach on the island of dreams, but we had to leave it all there as we carried ourselves with difficulty and great pain during this time. For we were as week as a new kitten and then a drowned one at that, for it never stopped raining laddies, not for a day, I tell you, not for a day to be sure. You stand here with all your strength, burning this rubbish in the sunshine, and we would have claimed it all in our weakness, damp through and through, we would have claimed every scrap.

Six miles of ocean lads, that's what we had to cross. Six miles of ocean that could be as rough with great foaming rolling waves and winds so strong as to blow a man down, time after wretched time, that we'd not chance the voyage for more than a month after we'd finished the coracle, for never did the storms relent. That's the way it was. Even when we'd built that craft we had to wait. And then when we landed, god, she just broke to bits, right under our weight, it was a hairs breath that we made it at all. The bush on that island of dreams lads, aye, it was as thick as ever a man could see, and we had to fight our way through every inch to the provision depot on the far side, while all the time the rain came down upon us. Soaked to the skin lads, wet but again, and all of us feeble".

They seemed to listen to every word and then as I took a breath, for I was fair out by now, the young one said " I've always wanted to go to sea, I've always wanted to be a seaman, and grand father thought that I would one day". 

"To sea lad, to sea you say. Perhaps if you knew what being a sailor really means you would not be so anxious for that one. It is hard and dangerous work, and a stiff is soon spotted both by the officers and the crew my boy, if you have any doubts of mind or strength lad, stay to the land, don't ask to test your sea legs at all".

The larger lad been eating from a pail of apples as we talked and had finished at least three in this time. Now, as he made his crisp bites, he struck one that had a grub in it and he cast it far out into the river with a curse.

"Food laddie, aye good food like an apple, if you had to endure the food that we had for all those weeks, by god son you would never cast aside a scrap, not a scrap son you hear that, not a scrap". I was getting a little carried away but the lads needed a good lesson and besides these lads burning up some good gear had made me right furious. " Those first few days, we could only survive by eating the raw flesh of mollyhawks which are like a common gull, you hear, and scraps sea weed straight from the sea. And it was only then if we had the strength and will to catch them. We needed the warmth from their bodies to lads. And the root, yes, we found a plant that had a root great thick stems but god it was tough" .

As I began to walk away, they hardly moved at all just stared in a spell bound way as if I was a mad man and I knew they understood not a word, for the fire broke into flame and this place warm in the sun, was worlds away from the isolated chill of the southern gales that lashed those isles of disappointment that I had survived.

As I bide them farewell, and wandered off, disappearing into the distance, the serenity of the morning returned. With a turn back at them, I saw them throw on some more of this precious rubbish. How could they ever see the difference between their 
quiet existence and my struggle to survive, how could they ever understand?