In January 2026, I spent ten days on the island, retracing our steps from 1982. I spent hours walking up and down the wharf and looking out over the bay, imagining Scally anchored there. This was a visit to reminisce and reflect. I had hoped to access memories locked away, and failed, mostly.

The purpose of my visit to the island was absolute. It was a journey to retrace Scally’s voyage across the south and north Atlantic Oceans, with her crew of six. In 1982, I was sixteen. I celebrated my sixteenth birthday on the island. I got my very first period somewhere in those fourteen days between Cape Town and St Helena. I experienced deep fear and uncertainty for the first time in my young life. I experienced for the first time being stuck in a place with no way out. I experienced loss and grief for the first time.

In 2026, I am approaching sixty. I returned to the island, willingly, with life experience, the senses of an adult, the emotions of a wife and mother, the luxury of living in one of the world’s safest and most developed nations. I returned with the knowledge of a traveller, a reader, a lover of learning, a teacher. I returned for me, for my own gain and no one else’s, on my own time, under my own conditions. Because I wanted to.

I was confronted by thoughts and emotions and many many questions. I wanted to ask my father but cannot. I wanted to ask my mother, and did. I wanted to ask my brother, and did. I am very grateful to them both for sharing memories that I do not have and for confirming facts that I was not sure of. I continue to be in awe of the accuracy of both their recollections. Precise, after over forty four years. Accurate and clear.

I know that the weather between Cape Town and St Helena was bad and had had this fact confirmed by more than a few. I know that I was extremely sea-sick and spent three days huddled alone in the forepeak, secluded and extremely nauseous. I know that we lost a sail to the sea. I know that the seas were dangerous and violent. I know that I desperately wanted the loving safety of my grandparents. I know that I was unhappy and didn’t want to be there. I know I had to care for my beloved baby brother Filipe. I know that there were weights placed on my brother Manuel’s shoulders, at the age of fourteen, that should not have been. I know that my father was very brave. I know that we all trusted him. I know that we found St Helena and the safety of the bay of Jamestown. I know we arrived safely.

I know we read on board. My father had made sure that most of Charles Dickens’ novels were available to us. Once I found my sea-legs, we played Backgammon, Trivial Pursuit and Dominoes every day. We’re still quite unbeatable. We wrote in the log book after sharpening pencils carefully. We listened to my father checking in daily with the ham radio network of the world. Charlie Tango Delta One Tango Romeo Juliet. We plotted our route on the charts. We watched and learnt from my father how to read the stars with the sextant. We watched and learnt the mathematical calculations to plot our position of the charts. I learnt about discipline and routine. We sang songs. I played the guitar and the rest of the crew sang along. We listened to Abba and Neil Diamond tapes over and over again. We drank Tang. We caught a fish and ate it for a few days. We saw a hammerhead shark trailing our wake for a few days. We learnt how to get by with very little fresh water, just one cup, just in case. We washed our hair and ourselves with salt water. We polished the stanchions. We sat on deck staring out at the horizon. We watched sunrise and sunset. We saw the moon. I experienced extreme cold and extreme heat. I learnt for the first time the responsibility of being on watch in the dark, alone.

My thoughts, emotions and memories did not let me sleep soundly at the Mantis. I kept returning to the same questions: why did my father do it? How did we all do it? What made him decide to put his entire family on a tiny 31-foot sail boat and set off across oceans? Do I know anyone who would do the same? How did we manage without any exercise? How must my grandparents have felt? How did we face danger? How did we cope with interrupted sleep patterns and watches in the middle of the night? Why did I get so violently sea sick but no one else? Were we happy? Were we sad? Did my father have any regrets? Would he have done it again?