My old friend, the Royal Mail Ship, St Helena
Recently, on one of the two days of summer we’ve had so far, I was walking over London Bridge, headed for Cinnamon Kitchen in the lovely Devonshire Square to meet my fellow ‘green badgers’ - people with whom I qualified for my guiding Green Badge. Those of you who have been on my walk, will know that this is the site of some original East India Company warehouses built in the late 18th century. The Bengal Store would have housed spices, silks, opium, tea and much more.
My first near-death experience with the RMS. My heart, together with most of my other organs, was in my mouth
Walking over the bridge I looked down the Thames to see a familiar face…..or more accurately, my old ship, the Royal Mail Ship St Helena. Yes. This was my transport to work while I was Governor of the island. She came under the Governor’s responsibility, although that doesn’t mean to say she was mine alone. No she belonged, and was indeed loved by, the whole island. She was like the elderly aunt who always pitches up and gives you advice. Somehow you knew you could rely on her, and, indeed, that she’d be back for more. Steadfast. Reliable.
My mum still thinks I do the filing, wait til I tell her about this!
The ‘RMS,’ as we called her, ferried passengers and cargo on a six-day voyage from Cape Town. As soon as you set foot on her, you were already on St Helena even though you had a long way to go and, crucially, many meals, deck cricket, more meals, and ‘RMS-quizzes’. The Captain was a Saint (the name for St Helenians); the crew were Saints; the passengers were Saints. On my first voyage, I remember vividly hearing the sound of their quirky Saint dialect everywhere….kind of a mix between West Country and South African. A soft and lilting drawl.
The ship is still named ‘St Helena’ but she doesn’t have her Royal Mail Ship pronoun any more. After the airport opened (another time, another blog), she was sold. She now moves Extreme E racing cars around the world and she was in London to launch Extreme Hydrogen (H)…..no I me neither!.
The last time I saw the RMS was six years ago. She had just arrived in Jamestown port and had sounded her horn, or as the Saints used to say ‘she done blown orf’. It was early morning. She surprised us because we had spent most of the previous three days saying an emotional farewell, which included water cannon, flotillas of boats, rousing music, speeches, marching bands, receptions, salutes etc., all washed down with several gallons of shipwrecks (the Saint favourite drink of spiced rum and coke).
The whole island came out to wave a final goodbye to their lifeline to the real world. There wasn’t a dry eye on the island. And here she was back again that next morning. Someone on board had become unwell and, as with any island medical emergency, the calculation was made about how to get help as quickly as possible. In this case to turn back, and bring the patient to the island’s hospital. It seemed rather surreal to see her sail off again afterwards without any of the pomp and ceremony of the previous days. I hoped another speech wouldn’t be needed as I was completely running on empty by then.
My first real experience of the RMS was to climb down her side (whatever the technical term is for that), on a flimsy rope ladder, while men were in a RIB below on a tumultous sea of white froth. When they shouted above the noise of the crashing waves, I had to step into the boat, hoping that they would catch me. This was the only way to get ashore on Tristan da Cunha. And this was a stop on my first journey as Governor to the three islands - the other one being Ascension. I had taken advantage of the RMS paying the first of her farewell journeys to Tristan. Another unexpected one came when the airport didn’t open on time (yes, another blog, another time). It was terrifying. And I’m glad I wore trousers. But in fact, I would be doing this multiple times over my years as Governor, and while I always worried I would end up in the drink, luckily Tristanians and Saints knew what they were doing.
Seeing the RMS beside the Belfast, I admit my eyes pricked with tears. I can’t say I necessarily enjoyed my many journeys on her. Truth is I got a bit bored. But, as with all the Saints on the island, she stole your heart, she was sorely missed, and after she’d been sold, the island wasn’t the same without her.