Tag: South Atlantic
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A day at sea: how we spent our time
Scally was not a large sailboat, and at a mere 31-feet, space was a premium. When we think about young children nowadays; ages nine and two years old, happily playing and running around their homes or local playgrounds, I find it hard to imagine how difficult it must have been for my two youngest brothers. There were no Ipads, no Disney movies, no distractions of the kind that parents take for granted these days. The two of us older ones had chores to do, which kept us occupied, and also our shifts, which taught us responsibility. They are skills that serve me well to this day.
Our chores on deck included washing and scrubbing the decks daily with salt water pulled up from the ocean in a green canvas bucket tied to a rope and special detergent which lathered in salt water, and a small hand held brush. We began up at the forepeak and worked our way down the port and starboard sides on our hands and knees, to the cockpit and the stern. Other chores included polishing the chrome stanchions to keep rust at bay; winding the lines into round coils on deck to dry them out and make it look nice; checking the jerry cans lining the starboard and portside decks to ensure that they were properly strapped down; keeping the cockpit tidy, and looking out over the horizon to spot potential squalls or other threats. We sang songs, endlessly. Me on the guitar and everyone else joining in. Yellow Submarine. Slip Sliding Away. Country Roads.
Down below, we made our beds every day. Mine and my youngest brother’s had to be stowed away every day because it was needed as sitting space during the day for us to eat round the saloon table. Cleaning and tidying up was also done a few times a day; Scally could get quite messy with the six of us during the day. We played backgammon, trivial pursuit and dominoes for hours on end; read the tomes my father had chosen for us to read on the trip; and sang. We wrote daily in the logbook and observed my father plotting our position on the charts. We made no noise as we listened quietly and carefully to my father connecting with other Ham radio enthusiasts, somewhere in the world. This was our only connection to others and we were all grateful for it. Charlie Tango Delta Romeo India November Alpha. We were all fluent in the international radio alphabet.
Food and drink: water was in limited supply, you never knew when it might run out. One cup of water. There was a powder orange drink which when mixed with water made orange juice; and Coca Cola. My middle brother, aged nine, developed the skill for baking fresh bread in our little oven on gimbals. It was always delicious. Sometimes there was fresh tuna, if we had managed to catch one, and it often lasted for days. There were no fresh vegetables and fruit because after one or two days at sea it went off; so we had tinned instead. We were never hungry.
Exercise: non-existent.
Sleep: a lot.
Contentedness: we were a happy family
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Brazil: Leaving Salvador and the fire.
We left Salvador to head across the vast Atlantic, to cross the Equator, and to head in the direction of Portugal. It would be many thousands of nautical miles. According to the logbook, we departed Salvador on a particular day, but returned to the safety of Salvador due to the bad weather. We must have set off again soon after.
My memories of the five-day trip to Fernando de Noronha are not good, but vivid.
The weather: inclement.
The waves: gigantic.
Scally: tipping and dipping and tossing and turning in the surf of the giant waves, her mast often parallel to the horizon.
My mother: utterly convinced she could smell gas emiting from the galley (and she was right).
My father: absolutely convinced there was no gas.
A lighter.
An explosion.
A fire.
A fire extinguisher.
My brother jumping to the rescue.
CO2 powder sprayed everywhere.
My father blacked out.
My mother panicking.
The real possibility that we might sink.
The real possibility that we might need to release the liferaft.
White CO2 powder everywhere.
Our voices disappeared.
Shock.
Fear.
What about our captain?He had been burned all down his right side from the fire and was passed out. I had placed Jellonet all over his burns and he was sleeping in the forepeak.
It was up to me and my brother to navigate our way to Fernando de Noronha. Luckily, we had learnt how to use the sextant, how to calculate the position, how to plot the route.
Two days later we spotted the island, and sought anchor and help.
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St Helena, My reflections
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?
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St Helena, Learning and Lessons in History
There is only one flight in and out of the island each week, which means that all the guests at the Mantis Hotel usually end up getting to know each other. Some of these included two professors and researchers of Anthropology from the University of Pennsylvania; one professor from the University of the Western Cape; their respective students (around twelve of them); and a group of people from Jamaica, who were accompanying them all. I later found out that the group of musicians and dancers from Jamaica were on the island to honour their ancestors and to perform Kumina, a ritual dance handed down from generation to generation in Jamaica, believed to date back to the mid 1800s.
On meeting and speaking with one of the professors from Pennsylvania, I discovered their reason for being on the island and this was the beginning of my lessons in a field of history and the past thus far entirely unknown to me; the Transatlantic Slave Trade. My knowledge was shamefully non-exisitent and I am eternally grateful that I got to meet this professor, and for her invaluable lecture in the museum; otherwise I would not ever have known.
St Helena played a key role in the transatlantic slave trade and its abolition. In the mid to late eighteen hundreds, more than 25’000 “liberated Africans” were placed on the island, “rescued” from slave ships heading to Brazil and Cuba, in an effort by the British to play their part in the elimination of the slave trade. A vice admiralty court was in operation in St Helena at the time, for a period of around thirty years, that condemned slave ships and “liberated” the slaves.
The vast majority of the “liberated” Africans were interred in encampments in Rupert’s Valley, a dreary, arid, wind-blown, remote by virtue of inaccessibility, valley. It is believed that over eight thousand “liberated Africans” are buried in unmarked graves, having died from disease, starvation and neglect.
In the mid 2000’s, while excavation and engineering was being initiated in the valley to create road access to the first airstrip, human remains were found. Archaeologists from abroad were summoned, and further excavations took place. Three hundred and twenty five human remains were discovered and many thousands more are believed to be resting in the valley.
In 2015, the Saints were asked for their opinions on what should happen to the remains that were discovered. The overwhelming majority wanted reburial, in Ruperts, believing that it was important to be as close as possible to where they were originally found.
In 2022, the reburial ceremony was held. The memorial site is marked by a ring of stones.
DNA research indicates that the “liberated” slaves originated from Angola, the Congo and Gabon.
From the twenty five thousand liberated, most were sent to the Caribbean or America for a life of indentured labour, some remained on the island and only very few were returned to Africa. Most of the Portuguese slavers were put on trial on St Helena.
Over three thousand were taken to Jamaica.
Dates: January 2026.
Saints and visitors getting ready to watch Kumina 
Getting ready for Kumina 
The newly constructed wharf at Ruperts Bay 
The clear waters of Ruperts Bay 
Ruperts Bay 
The pipeline from Ruperts Bay leading to the airport 
Information from the Museum 
Info from the Museum 
Information from the Museum 
Information from the Museum 
Information from the Museum -
St Helena, Swimming in the Bay
It was late summer when we were in St Helena in 1982, so it was hot and warm. The sea, though, was always very cold, like the South Atlantic typically is. Me and my oldest brother were good swimmers; growing up and going to school in South Africa had taught us that. Swimming is a part of life; compulsory swimming lessons at school in olympic sized pools; taking part in swimming competitions representing your house (mine was Crane and we wore the colour yellow); pools at home and of course, the waves of the Indian Ocean surf at North Beach or Umhlanga.
While living on Scally, we would love to jump overboard into the sea and swim around her. Often, it would be the only way to cool off, as well as to freshen up. Water was rationed on board and fresh water showers non-existent. The water in the bay of Jamestown is crystal clean and entirely unpolluted.
We both have the same distinct memory. Of being in the sea near Scally in Jamestown Bay, swimming and having fun, or maybe we were cooling off and getting washed. Suddenly, while we were diving under, the sea above our heads went unusually and quickly dark. Above us were large rays. Not knowing whether they were dangerous or not, we resurfaced quietly, and slowly without splashing, as silently as possible swam back to get on board.
We knew enough about the potential dangers of visible and invisible marine life. In South Africa, there were shark nets all along the beaches, as well as a famous shark research centre. We’re talking great white sharks. We knew to take great care in the waves of Durban. Not too far away from where we lived, there were crocodiles and hippos patrolling rivers. While on the way to St Helena, at sea, we had been followed by hammerheads in our wake for a few days. We had seen many dolphins jumping and racing us along the bow. So we knew there and then, with the rays swimming above us, to give them the respect and distance they wanted from humans and get out of the water fast.
Now, on my most recent visit in 2026, I dropped into the Marine Research Centre on the wharf to enquire. Some very helpful young researchers working there were were very open and willing to help. They confirmed our memory of these creatures. And named them for me…….. Chilean Devil Rays.
Dates: January 2026 and March 1982
More marine life 
Marine inhabitants and visitors to the island -
St Helena, and the Bay
I spent many hours walking along the wharf in Jamestown from one end to the other and back again. I stared out over the bay at the fishing boats, yachts, ferries, exposed wrecks and the ocean beyond. I stared down at the turbluent ocean battering the walls of the wharf and the rocks closeby. I stared down the ladders we would have climbed up from the Wag, carefully and calulatingly counting the surge to avoid being pounded against the wall. I watched the ferryman. I watched the fishermen. I watched how the ropes had to be grabbed to ensure safe landing onshore. I stared out at the yachts, much larger than Scally, anchored in the bay, imagining their crew all having dinner onboard, like we did.
The waters in the bay are dark and turbulent. Rough and capricious. Unforgiving. Predictable only in that they are dangerous, deep and not to be underestimated. There are many wrecks and it’s a favourite spot for divers. The ocean is extremely cold and unwelcoming, although people do swim. We did, in 1982. This time, in 2026, I was not brave enough. Maybe if the rest of Scally’s crew had been there, we would have dared.
This bay was our home for around two months in 1982. Each day, we would row the Wag to the shore, and back. We slept onboard to the sound of the waves slapping the side of Scally. It was warm and cosy down below. Going to shore was always an adventure. We had to count the swell, carefully, and each one of us would grab the ropes, or the railings of the steps, and jump ashore. The others would disappear with the receeding wave and wait for the next swell to jump. My youngest brother, aged two, was always carefully gripped in one of our arms, and he knew to hang on tightly. The crew member who had him only had one free arm to grab hold. The last to jump ashore had to make sure that Wag’s painter was with them, otherwise there would be no returning to Scally.
Dates: Early January 2026
Spot the wreck 
Steps to get onshore 
The steps and ropes to get onshore. 
Yachts in the distance 
The ferry and ropes to grab 
The dark ocean 
The bay 
One of the ways onshore 
The bay 
The swirl of the approach 
A set of steps to climb ashore 
Fish fry night 
Fish fry night at the yacht club 
The bay 
The bay 
The bay -
St Helena, Plantation House and Jonathan, the Tortoise
It is said and widely believed that Jonathan, the tortoise, is the oldest living creature on the planet, believed to be over 190 years old. He is a giant Seychelles tortoise, said to have arrived on the island in 1882, with his birth estimated at 1832.
Jonathan, and his companions, there are three of them, all of the same species, live in a protected enclosure in the gardens of Plantation House, the official residence of the Governor of St Helena. (The Governor governs St Helena, Ascension and Tristan da Cunha Islands). No offspring have ever resulted from Jonathan’s female companions, but eggs are often to be found.
Unfortunately, we do not have any photos of our visit to Jonathan in 1982, but all of us remember him vividly.
My tour of Plantation House was with about twelve others, and we had a tour guide, who took us through the various rooms and explained the history of the house, including a corridor with dozens of portraits of past governors. I noted quite quickly, that there has only ever been one woman governor so far. She served from 2016 to 2019. She currently works as a guide in London.
The last room we were guided into was the library, and occupying it were four people and a dog. The dog, a black Labrador, belonged to the Governor and his family. Three adults, one of whom was the Governor’s wife, were restoring old books, carefully, together at a table, and the fourth was a teenager, the daughter of one of the restorers. As an avid reader and lover of books, libraries and book stores, I was fascinated. No one dared speak first; so of course, I had to start. I asked one question after another, and then some of the remaining group members joined in too. Apart from the Governor’s wife, they are volunteers from abroad, spending time every day, for about six months, dedicating their time to rebinding and restoring the books in the library.
Our tour ended with a sit down tea with scones and fruit cake. As soon as we were finished, we were led outside to visit the gardens and Jonathan and his mates.
Dates: January 2026.
Plantation House 
The enclosure for the tortoises 
The gardens 
The gardens of Plantation House 
Plantation House 
The only female governor so far 
Magnificent views from Plantation House -
St Helena, Jacob’s Ladder
Waking up on my first morning in the Mantis St Helena Hotel, I had a brief, but present, claustrophobic feeling. Oh no, had island fever set in?! I could not leave the island, even if I wanted to, until the next flight came. OK, I could have hitched a ride as a crew member, possibly, on one of the boats anchored in the bay, but that would also take at least two weeks to get anywhere. It was a nagging feeling, always there, and one that I had to surpress, that I was really, very remote. Very far away from anything. I had no mobile phone connection, and wifi only in the hotel, and that was sporadic at best.
Jacob’s Ladder was visible from my hotel window. My memories came flooding back. In 1982, since we had to stay on the island for more than a couple of weeks to wait for the RMS St Helena to return with sails and much needed engine parts for Scally, my father enrolled us in school. The secondary school was located at the top of Jacob’s ladder.
Me and the oldest of my brothers, both secondary school age, would come ashore every morning, in our sailing clothes, which were mainly shorts, T-shirts and slip slops or bare feet, and climb the ladder, along with all the other secondary school Saints. 699 steps to the top. Coming back down was often sliding down the handrail.
I walked to the first step, located a few metres from my hotel, near the museum and the prison, and stood at the bottom step looking up. It’s steep, very steep. I tried to picture the two of us climbing them every day. I confess, I did not have the courage to climb them again. My knees and hip cause me too much discomfort, and after all, I had climbed them, albeit many many years ago.
I visited the school at the top, by taxi. I would not have remembered it at all, but standing there looking at it, it came flooding back. I was on the top floor, the stranger amongst the Saints. I remembered the exercise books we had been given, and the Maths class, which seemed awfully easy. I remembered not sounding like them; my accent was very different. I remembered their curiosity. I remember being accepted.
I stood, for a good while, remembering.
Dates: I was in January in early January 2026.
The view from the school 
The school 
The school 
The ladder 
The ladder 
The ladder from the bay 
The view of the ladder from my hotel window 
Jacob’s Ladder 
HM Prison in Jamestown -
St Helena, Roast Lunch in Luffkins Springs
Sunday came. I had been on the island for six days thus far. Reception called me from breakfast; there was someone on the phone for me. “Cliff will pick you up at about twelve. He’ll have to pop in quickly to check on one of our guests who’s just checked in, and then he’ll bring you up here for lunch,” said Delia on the other end. I’ll confess, my heart started racing, quite worried at the prospect of a ninety-three year old man, hard of hearing, driving me up the narrow mountain passes to their home. “Have trust and faith,” I kept telling myself.
Cliff arrived. I got into his rather battered Ford station wagon, and off we set. We stopped off to check on the retired RMS St Helena captain, who was visiting the island for a few months, staying in one of the Huxtables’ cottages. Experiencing how Cliff manoevered the Ford station wagon into the narrow lane and reversing it back out again certainly did its bit to allay my fears. He mastered it perfectly. So off we set, up the pass towards Luffkins Springs, in the country. Where I live in the middle of Europe, “country” has a different meaning than here; this was certainly a trip deep into the St Helena countryside. I was pleasantly suprised by how steady Cliff was at the wheel, and how competently he negotiated the passes and narrow bends in the road. Once or twice, he got a bit too close for my comfort to the low wall protecting the road from the steep drop below, and I held my breath, but we made it safe and sound to their home.
They live in a mini micro-climate, very wet and damp, green and lush, with many ferns, beautiful multi-coloured flowers and tall, heavy trees, loaded with rain droplets waiting for the sun to come out. There was low-hanging fog in the distance. It had rained heavily the night before and the driveway was full of puddles. We came to the gate, but Cliff would not let me help, I was to stay in the car while he got out and opened it, then closed it. Delia was waiting for us in the drive.
Theirs is a warm, comfortable, lived in and welcoming home. There were photos in frames everywhere, of their children and grandchildren, and themselves on visits abroad, mainly to Canada, but also to Portugal, once in the nineties, to visit my family. I was not at home at the time. It reminded me greatly of my aunt’s home in northern England, a home she’d lived in for over sixty years with my uncle and my cousins. Quite clearly a home that had lived many lives; people who’d lived within its walls for many years, children born, growing up and leaving. The elderly remain. I felt very content and happy to be there with these two strangers, who were so familiar. Delia remembered much about us and was happy to share her memories and tales. Cliff spoke little.
Delia had made a delicious roast Sunday lunch for the three of us, and I felt very honoured. I helped to lay the table and Cliff carved the chicken. There was also a home-made lemon meringue pie. Our conversation was relaxed and open. Delia shared the results of her DNA test, the outcome of which claimed at least thirteen different country origins, from India, to Finland.
After an hour or two, Delia suggested a drive around the area. My heart sank for the second time that day. I’m not a “taking a Sunday drive” sort of person, and certainly not with nonagenarian. But I couldn’t say no; they seemed so happy to have my company, and truth be told, I was enjoying myself. These were people who didn’t mince words, who were honest, open and true, who had nothing to hide, who were happy to see me and be in my company, happy to talk about forty four years ago, happy to share, happy to spend their Sunday afternoon, when most others would be taking a nap or reading a book, driving me around the tops of the island, and so off we set. No plan in mind, just a drive around.
It was foggy, and the views of the ocean far below that Delia had so wanted to show me, were hard to find. I was needlessly worried about oncoming traffic; there was none. It was a Sunday after all. After an hour or so, of trying to find ocean views, I decided to call it a day. I was emotionally exhausted and needed some time for reflection. They drove me back down to Jamestown, where we said our goodbyes. I knew this was the last time I would see these lovely people and my heart was heavy. I was grateful for their kindness and warmth.
Dates: Lunch was on Sunday 11th January 2026.
Delia and Cliff 
The driveway and the gate 
Their garden 
Their home within the trees and forest 
The garden, driveway and huge trees 
Cliff Huxtable and the famous lemon-meringue pie -
St Helena, Visiting old friends
Scally and her crew stayed moored in the bay at Jamestown for about two months in 1982, from February to April. My parents, during this time, made friends with a family called the Huxtables. Cliff, originally from Canada, Delia, a Saint, and their two children Jane and Robert, who were more or less the same age as Miguel was at the time. Both Delia and Cliff, at the time, were the same age as my parents, more or less. Cliff was a school teacher at the high school. My mother has kept in touch with them all these years; she’s actually very good at keeping in touch with old friends, and in preparation for my visit to St Helena in 2026, I contacted Delia and Cliff to see if they would like to meet.
I arrived on the weekly flight in to St Helena from Cape Town on a Tuesday just after lunch and checked in at the Mantis St Helena Hotel. I had literally only just checked in and taken my bags to my room, when Delia and Cliff arrived at the hotel to meet me.
Delia looked just like my memory of her, she hadn’t seemed to have changed, apart from a few wrinkles on her otherwise youthful face. I could not believe she was eighty. She only had a few streaks of grey in her hair, her eyes were bright and interested, and she had a lovely, winning personality. Cliff, hard of hearing, is now ninety three. They sat together opposite me, a married couple of over fifty years. We had tea and sandwiches in the lobby, and looked over a couple of photos of us all from 1982 that she had brought with her in an album to show me. She asked many questions. About my mother, my brothers and their family, me. They left after an hour or two, with an invitation to lunch that Sunday at their home.
Dates: They visited me on the date of my arrival in St Helena on the 6th January 2026.
Down by the port. Delia and Cliff plus myself and Filipe. 
The four of us kids from Scally plus the Huxtable children. 
The Huxtable boys. 
My middle brother and Robert 
At the Huxtables House in Luffkins Springs 
On Scally in Jamestown bay. Myself with my youngest brother and Delia and Cliff Huxtable.