If we had only refrained from going to the pub that night, I would probably be home now. If I had merely waited to drink a glass of wine with my wife to celebrate Christmas, rather than staying out late to down several pints of beer with my fellow crew against my better judgement, I might never have got into difficulties. I had the notion that drinking was not the best thing to do before the long journey back to England anyway; if I had just stuck to my guns I would not have slept through the alarm clock and would never have missed the ferry. How different it all could have been!
But, much as I regret it, it has happened, and after walking with my basic rations for all of 36 hours and seeing nobody at all, my main aim has become finding another human being. And here are three separate families, all with young children and their beach toys, as well as large picnic hampers filled to bursting with the kinds of food I now see as complete luxuries. I watch as they sit, munching happily and unwrapping brightly–coloured parcels from each other. I feel no envy, just sadness and a small amount of anger at the hand fate has dealt me this Christmas.
As I watch the little ones, and hear their shrieks of delight as they splash around in the cool, clear water I feel a distinct pang thinking of my own two children, at home with my wife Karen; and without me. I wonder what they are thinking, what they are doing. My spirits lift as I picture Karen telling them; “ Daddy’s on an adventure” – I’m sure that’s what she’ll be saying. I think about her stories, imagining whether I am perhaps “At the North Pole, telling Santa exactly which presents my children deserve to receive this year,” or if I’m “just away for a bit, battling with the cold wind and snow outside to be back in time for tea with my loved ones.”
I wish. If only they knew. Daddy’s on an adventure all right, but one involving risks, loneliness, shame and much heartache – certainly nothing heroic or glamorous. Poor Karen, she’ll be doing her best to comfort them, I know, but she’ll be worried sick herself. I wish there was some way I could let her know I’m all right, so that she can, at least, enjoy today.
Though thinking those thoughts had heightened my morale a little, I feel tears springing to my eyes as I hear their voices now. I want to go up to one of the families nearby, ask them where the nearest town is, and how to get there and find a telephone, so I can just speak to my family and wish them a ‘Happy Christmas.’ But I daren’t leave the coast – the last thing I want is to be thrown off course altogether.
3:05 pm
My pitiful excuse-for-a-Christmas-dinner consisted not of a juicy, seasoned slice of turkey, soft, fluffy baked potatoes and colourful, tasty vegetables drenched in rich, flavoursome gravy; but of two cold, limp turkey sandwiches and a raw carrot. I have to smile to myself as I think of the irony of it all. This time last year I was sitting at the dining room table with all my family around me, candles glowing in the darkened room and a delicious Christmas spread on the table in front of me. I feel the heat of the candles on my cheeks; hear the chatter and laughter of my parents and my children. I smell the appetising aromas coming from the plates before me; see the decorations and the presents and my happy, smiling family.
There is nothing for it. I am going to have to throw caution to the winds and introduce myself to one of the families. I simply can’t go through the rest of the day without hearing from my own.
5:45 pm
It is nearly six o’clock and I have spoken to Karen! I’ve had far too much on my mind to remember the time difference between Britain and Australia, but when my wife heard who it was on the end of the line, getting her out of bed so early in the morning, she didn’t mind in the slightest!
I cannot believe my luck!! I have been more fortunate, I think, than I perhaps deserve. The family I spoke to were so understanding, and were shocked as I explained my situation to them. Having children themselves, they told me, they couldn’t picture spending the festive season without them. I asked about my getting into town, only to find that the nearest suitable place was over 15 miles away. Disappointment shrouded me for a moment, but I was told that since that was where they lived they’d be more than happy to drive me there. For a fleeting split second, I was in two minds – what if, against all odds, the ship did come back the moment I left the beach? – but deciding I was not going to let selfishness get the better of me - yet again – I gratefully accepted their offer and went with them.
The family really are the loveliest people – the children quickly acknowledged me and we all played ‘I Spy’ in the car. They let me use their telephone, and though I made an offer to pay for the international call, it was refused so I tried my hardest not to talk for too long. As I dialled the number and heard the ringing, my heart was pounding – I was going to hear Karen’s voice! I can’t remember ever having heard the telephone ‘ring’ on the other end for so long, panic flooded me again as I wondered if anyone was ever going to answer, then –
“Hello?”
Her tone was a worried one (had I been able to think straight, I’d have realised that night-time calls like the one she was receiving usually bring bad news) but I was so delighted to hear her voice that I couldn’t put her mind at rest for a few seconds. “Karen?” I managed to croak, my voice breaking. “JIM?!!” she replied, half laughing, half crying; she obviously couldn’t believe it any more than I could. I explained to her my circumstances as quickly as was possible, giving her the number of the family I was with, and then waited as she woke the children. I spoke to them in turn, wishing each a Happy Christmas and blowing kisses down the line.
“How’s the North Pole, Daddy?” asked my youngest. I was confused for a minute, and he continued – “Mummy says you’re up there, talking to Santa and telling him how good we’ve all been! She says you’ll be back soon!”
As the tears rolled down my cheeks, I felt happier than I ever remember being. “That’s right son,” I whispered, laying down the receiver. “ I will be.”
