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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Daddy has finally scummed to my continual nagging and at last allowed me, against his better judgment I might say, to accompany him on one of his trips south to the subantarctic islands. So, I will finally see this intriguing place he has always talked about so much upon his return from his  other trips.

I am sure he used to tease us with those stories he would tell, when you would come to stay, though we wanted to believe every word of it.  You never thought that I would be able to do, it, did you?  Remember  when we used to joke about going way down there, and you said I  would never be able to talk daddy round to it. Mummy was more of a  problem, as she worried like anything about me going away with daddy. It took quite awhile before she finally said yes, and it was only that uncle Jack was on board as well that convinced her in the end. She fussed right  to the time we waved her bye bye at the wharf, her wee face looked so  concerned and upset as she faded into the distance as we steamed  off down the harbour. Her we face is probably still at the wharf.

I should really wear some warm clothes, as the wind can be exceedingly  cold and bitter on the open decks, and can cut through the thin dresses that I have, but all the warm coats are so bulky and I just end up  looking like another man on the ship. I am a bit naughty with my dress but I do enjoy the winks from the boys so I will have to brave the cold for a while yet, unless daddy catches me, as he keeps telling me to keep warm clothes on.

Today we passed the Snares Island, and daddy sailed slowly around them to let me and uncle jack have a good look. They seem little more than a  few black rocks in the middle of nowhere covered in thousands of sea  birds. I had never seen so many birds in my life. At night as the dusk falls, they fly in from the ocean to rest and the sky is literally black with the moving shapes of birds. They circle for hours it would seem. 

As the daylight paled to darkness, we left these islands and sailed further on to the south. We spent the night playing cards or reading. With me, there was uncle jack, the first mate and daddy. The rest of the crew, including the two nice boys, were away in another cabin of the ship. I had a fair few  cups of tea that night, while daddy and the others had a quite a few  glasses of whisky I think. I though I might be able to kid him into letting  me have a little drink with them, but he did not like this idea at all and I was restricted just to the sober, plain old cups of tea. He would really go mad if he knew how we would sneak into his study and have a small sip  from his lacquer time to time. Oh we are naughty girls.

The next morning, about 9 O'clock, we could make out the Auckland  Islands ahead. As the dark shapes became closer, I just had to put on one of those warm coats as the wind became really fierce and a light ran began falling. I enjoy being on the deck and watching the great sea birds swoop across the wide swells of the ocean. Uncle Jack, would spend hours pointing out the different types of albatross, but once he had left,  they would all look the same to me as they fly so fast when they 
swoop past.

Daddy said he could anchor at Port Ross and that he could row  me ashore in the small boat to have a look at the cemetery and the bays inside the anchorage. As we sat there, he pointed out shoe island and told me stories of how it was used as a gaol during the Enderby settlement . They used to call it Rodd's castle as the surgeon was the only one to ever use it, and then only to keep him off the perpetual drinking he indulged in.

We did all go for a walk on the island, and it felt strange being off the  ocean and on the land again as we walked up the overgrown track. It  was good being with daddy as he knows where all the tracks are. I would be hopelessly lost as often the tracks and the bush look much the same.  We saw the flag pole with the beacon on it and the fading inscription carved by H.M.S.Blanch , and also the victory tree with its message. They are both still there after all these years. Then on the way back we walked over the old Enderby settlement  , but there is not much of that left though, and finally we looked over the cemetery and the few lonely graves in the middle of the bush. While we were there, I picked a few large leaves from some of the Oleiria trees that only grow on this part of the island  and have them carefully pressed
between some large books daddy has up in the bridge. These leaves are large enough to write on, an old custom from Stewart island,  and I hope to send you one with my letter.

On the way back out to the Hinemoa, we saw a sea lion in the  water and it swam right up to us. They are really quite large. The only thing that spoiled the day was that it had been raining all day and we were soaked and cold by the time we returned. Daddy had some of the crew help me up out of the boat but unfortunately, one of those
nice boys wer'nt able to help me on board, and I had a couple of old timers take my arm. Late in the afternoon, daddy sailed off to the south part of the island and we anchored here in Carnley Harbour . We spent the night here.

Next morning, as it was quite fine, daddy promised to take me over to  Epigwaitt, that means "a dwelling by the water". This was the place that the castaways from the Grafton  wreck lived. Remember all those ship wreck stories that daddy use to scare us with, well this is the site of the first ship  wreck on the island. Remember the one that they made the bellows and  the forge. There are still bits of wreckage washed up and old bits of  rusting metal bolts and a few remains of their old hut. Uncle jack even found a slate with some writing on it under an old rotting board. 

It seems that a lot of people that come here, leaving a mark of there journey . As there were lots of old names scratched  with a knife or a sharp stone into the tired boards of the hut. I scratched my name and the date into an  old drink bottle we had taken over for lunch and placed it beside the remaining structure of the hut. Some one will probably find it in a hundred years or more and wonder how it got there and who I was.

Best wishes from your loving friend,