Solitaire Spirit: Three Times Around the World Single-Handed (7 page)

On my fourth attempt I managed to move them 10ft. I tried to explain that my first three swings had been practice, not that I minded their laughter even if they were drinking my grog. I looked for revenge. My old fishing partner, rolling about much the worse for wear, seemed a likely victim. Prising a gin bottle from his shaking hand I gave him the club, pointed to the ball, the general direction of the hole, and stood well back. The poor old man
could hardly stand and I started to feel sorry for what I was doing. Encouraged by his mates he finally swung and made solid contact. The ball flew off in a majestic trajectory to land a few feet from the hole. He was carried around on the shoulders of a cheering crowd as though he had just won the British Open. I handed out all the balls, three dozen or so, and the rest of my golf clubs, not particularly caring if I got them back.

With that I went to join the only friend I had in the world. From
Solitaire
's deck the beach took on a festive atmosphere: golf balls were flying like white meteors over sands covered by drying magazine pages while staggering drunks held cigarettes like prize Havana cigars. I had brought havoc to this sleepy village but felt content for the first time since hitting the reef.

Around noon a Land Rover came down the beach with two uniformed men and a civilian who was the first to speak.

‘No problem,' he said.

Thank the Lord, I thought, for someone who could speak English. Quickly I told him of my adventures since leaving England, finishing up with a question, ‘Where am I?'

‘No problem,' he replied.

We went in this circle three times before I realised ‘no problem' was the extent of his English. Passport and ship's papers were handed over and for the first time I heard the name Tutóia. It was decided that Maurice, one of the uniformed men, would stay with me to help refloat
Solitaire
and then navigate us to this Tutóia, a fishing village 2 miles or so away at the other end of the bay. The tide came in just before dark and
Solitaire
stood on her feet again. Some 40 yards offshore, Maurice took the tiller while I watched the echo sounder. Then it grew dark, which confused Maurice, and we hit the mud. In the near vicinity were several canoes using lights. When Maurice called, one came over and without a word he stepped in and was swallowed by the dark.

I spent a worried night trying to sleep on deck, wrapped in a sail.
Solitaire
's keel was held as though set in concrete and there was no way of getting ashore unless I grew wings.

When Maurice returned at dawn
Solitaire
was again afloat. I started the engine and Maurice navigated us through a winding path of water cut in the forest until I had my first sight of Tutóia, a dirty beach with a single wooden jetty against a background of a few red-roofed modern bungalows among scattered palm trees.

I was given to understand a naval officer wanted to see me and tried to make myself presentable, covering my blisters with lightweight trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. As I could not get shoes on my feet, I cut off the bottoms of some old pumps and bandaged them on. A local named Tony came out in his canoe and Maurice indicated that in future this man would look after me, so there would be no need of my rubber dinghy. I was taken to the largest of the bungalows, which turned out to be Navy Headquarters and after a short wait was shown into an office sparsely decorated with pictures of ships. Behind a large desk sat a handsome officer wearing American-type light khaki Navy uniform, silver bars agleam.

This was the commanding officer, Lieutenant Orland Sapana. Later I was to hear villagers refer to him as a saint and within a few days I was agreeing with them. The only other piece of furniture in the room was the biggest, softest, most luxurious easy chair whose arms reached out to me like those of a beautiful woman. My aching body longed to be engulfed by her and when I became aware Orland was inviting me to sit, I slowly lowered myself with closed eyes, only to receive another full-throated belch. The seat had no springs and I was sitting on the floor. Lieutenant Orland had disappeared: all I could see was the underside of his desk. I pulled myself up until my nose rested on its surface from where I tried to carry on an intelligent conversation. Although Orland could speak no English, he used words that were nearly international.

‘Military... sporta?'

I gathered he wished to know if I was in the services.

‘Sport,' I replied.

‘English?' he asked.

‘Si, yes, English,' I repeated and then pointed at him.

He said he was Brazilian which confused me as I had always thought St Lucia was British.

‘Saint Lucia? Brazilian?' I queried, shaking my head.

‘Si, si.' He stretched his arms wide and said, ‘Brazil.' Putting his hands close together: ‘England'.

I was not having that, so I bent both arms intending to say ‘England stronger' but having let go of the desk I was again swallowed by the armchair. When I re-emerged Orland was rocking back and forth, pretending to hold a baby and smiling. At first I thought he wanted to know if I had any children. He then picked up my papers and pointed first to the date in the calendar, then to my birth date, October 24th. Today was my birthday!

His face took on a look of concern and, pointing to my own, spoke the one word I'd been fearing, ‘Hospital.' I tried to make my way out of the office repeating,
‘Solitaire, Solitaire'
, too frightened to leave her, however much I needed medical attention. It was like being on the moon with someone suggesting you leave your space craft, your only means of returning to earth, plus the normal concerns of entering any hospital, wondering when they would release you. Orland understood this because he kept repeating, ‘No problem, no problem.'

Maurice then returned and I was told to accompany him to a hotel for a meal. Most of the houses around had been standing for years, their whitewashed walls, 2ft thick, broken by heavily shuttered windows as if under siege from the scorching sun. Poorly-dressed peasants offered fish and over-ripe bananas for sale but the village smelt of decay, flies seeming to cover its filth. Whenever Maurice and I came into view all movement would stop. I walked through statues that moved only to watch my stumbling progress. Now and again I would stop to tie the bandages on my feet when, seeing me kneeling on the cobbles, they would move forward to help, only to retreat with shy smiles, wishing me ‘Good morning' as I looked up.

The hotel was another terraced house, larger than its neighbours and with a small courtyard in front. Behind its shutters it was
cool. The main room had long scrubbed tables, kitchen chairs and sturdy sideboards: the walls were covered with browning family photographs such as I had last seen as a boy in my grandfather's house. Would I like to shower? I was shown across a dirty yard to what I first thought was a lavatory but inside which was a 40-gallon oil drum filled with water and a pannikin for throwing it over oneself. There was no soap or towel, but it proved the finest shower of my life. I patted myself dry with my shirt and tried to finger-comb my hair. As this hurt I simply pushed it back from my forehead and replaced the four-knotted handkerchief I had been using as headgear.

I was given two boiled eggs, some bread, and the worst cup of coffee I had ever tasted. There was another person in the room, a young Castro, with thick black hair and beard. About 30 years of age, he could speak a little English and introduced himself as Professor Maguil, a visiting teacher. He asked if I would visit the local girls' school that evening and give a talk, explaining that although the children would be unable to understand what I was saying, nevertheless they were trying to learn English and would welcome an opportunity to meet their first Anglo-Saxon.

A second man entered, Maguil's age, slightly built and beardless, a Dr Benedito Carvino. They talked together awhile, and from their glances clearly they were discussing me. I heard Lieutenant Orland's name mentioned.

Maguil turned. ‘Leslie, hospital,' he said seriously.

Already I felt I had been separated from
Solitaire
too long, so I shook my head and returned to her. Tony took me back to my boat in his canoe and spent the afternoon aboard. Married, with six children, he lived in a small concrete box containing several beds built from odd pieces of wood, covered with bits of blankets, with a cooking fire in the middle of the dirt floor. Whenever I wanted to go ashore, I would blow a whistle: either he, his wife or children would row me.

The youngsters added a touch of drama to this task. With a paddle as big as they were and a fast-flowing current, they had to
drag the canoe well upstream before starting across, timing their meeting with
Solitaire
before being swept past. I showed Tony how to use my gas stove and where the tea and coffee was kept. Considering their poverty Tony and his family were the most honest people it has been my privilege to meet and nothing was ever taken without my say-so.

Just before dark a single-engine aircraft, a Cessna 126 I reckoned, landed close to the village. That night I returned to the hotel for dinner, ready for my solo performance at the girls' school. Seated at the table with eight or ten other men eating prawns and rice, the man opposite me spoke in English. He was Ivan, the pilot of the aircraft I had seen land, and someone with whom I thought I could hold a conversation at last. Alas, he knew only a few phrases and words. In fact I was having difficulty myself with sentences, remembering only a few words at a time: if anyone spoke for too long I would forget the earlier part. In fact I found it easier to understand Orland, who spoke no English, than Ivan who in normal circumstances I would have been able to hold in conversation.

What happened that evening frightened me. At the school I was introduced to the teachers and then taken into a classroom with around a hundred females, aged between 14 and 60, all wearing grey skirts and white blouses, a government perk for attending school was the impression I got. There was a good deal of laughing and shouting and the odd word of English. Since I knew they would not understand if I just talked, I drew a chart on the blackboard showing my voyage from England to Martinique, then out to sea and back to St Lucia, at which point the shouting and laughing suddenly stopped and a chill ran up my back. When I turned around my audience stared at me as though I were mad. I had experienced this type of thing before when talking to the fishermen and Orland. I was trying to be friends with these people and I could not understand why they kept trying to frighten me. An attractive girl, aged about 20, was about to leave, her provocative wiggle marking her out as the village flirt. She stopped
in front of me, eyeing me up and down with a smouldering look as she said something to Maguil. The silence was broken by roars of laughter. Maguil indicated she wanted to kiss me goodnight. My answer was to point to my blistered mouth and say, ‘Problem!' I started to enjoy life again.

Next morning Tony arrived early with a gift from Orland of a plate of toast which we spread with marmalade and shared for breakfast, helped down by coffee. Later Ivan joined us and we sat talking in the cabin for a while. When he said he had flown to many islands and, indeed, Miami, I produced my Caribbean chart and pointed to Miami. He nodded, then, smiling, pointed to Havana. I tried Barbados and got another ‘Yes'. Warming to the game I pointed to St Lucia and was amazed when he shook his head. I did not appreciate his sense of humour. I had seen him land, he was with me now. Why was he trying to worry me? My head started to ache again and Tony led Ivan away shortly afterwards.

While they were ashore I found a stainless-steel mirror which I cleaned and polished. The reflection surely was not me, not this ugly mass of blisters and yellow, weeping sores? The ginger beard was encrusted with filth, the eyes barely visible, just red swollen lids with slits which started to run as I became sorry... not for myself, but for the poor fool in the mirror.

That afternoon Orland, Maguil and Dr Carvino came on board. Again I was told I must go to hospital, and again I refused. There would be no charge they said, apart from for medicines and food. Finally I gave $10 to Tony to fetch the antibiotics and disinfectants the doctor prescribed. Professor Maguil was leaving to visit another school and promised to ask the teachers to look after me while he was away. The doctor cleaned my face, gave me some tablets and then they all left.

On October 26th I cut my feet, swollen like glowing balloons, with a razor blade to release the fluid. Later Orland arrived with the doctor and for the first time they saw me in shorts. The condition of my legs seemed to make them angry but lying on my bunk I had the feeling that it had little to do with me. Now and
again I tried to explain that there was something wrong inside my head, that I could no longer understand anything. I kept making circular movements by the side of my head saying, ‘Loco.'

I was asked again if I would go to the hospital, and again refused. The doctor cleaned me as best he could and angrily pointed to the swarms of flies. ‘Englishman loco,' he agreed. They left, none of us happy.

I spent a restless night, my only relief to keep the blood from my feet by holding them above my head. In the morning I asked Tony to fetch the doctor, who inspected my legs.

‘Hospital,' he said again, shrugged his shoulders and closed his bag. ‘Fini,' he said, which I took to mean the poor man had had enough of me.

It was my turn to say ‘Hospital' and I even managed, ‘Please, doctor.'

Satisfied, he gave me some tablets that seemed to ease the pain. Later he returned with Orland and a stranger. John, who had been in the Merchant Navy and had spent a good deal of time in British ports, spoke excellent English. The fault was mine that it took so long to explain things.

Tony, who had been pumping
Solitaire
dry every day, would now live aboard and look after her. I was asked to write a brief statement to the Captain of Ports, along with a sketch of
Solitaire
's damage and a rough chart of my voyage, which I duly did and included a thank-you note for all the kindness and hospitality of the people of St Lucia.