1

Alan Campion only had time to let out a single shriek of terror before he found himself submerged in the numbingly cold Atlantic Ocean. Moments earlier, together with his companions, he had been sailing out to the remote archipelago of St Kilda on the Dolphin, a small fishing boat they had hired for the journey. Located a hundred miles west of the Scottish mainland, St Kilda is a tiny, somewhat mysterious, group of uninhabited islands and the Dolphin was now well out into the Atlantic Ocean with the mainland but a distant memory.
Alan was a builder by trade and he ran a very successful house building business in Kenton, a small town in the Lake District. Ten hours earlier, when Alan had first set foot on the Dolphin, even the slight movement of the boat made him feel queasy – and that was when the boat was still securely tied up in harbour. Unfortunately, as the journey progressed, the feeling got worse and eventually became impossible to ignore. His entire being became consumed with thoughts of seasickness; he could think of nothing else. Nor did he have any idea why this should be happening to him when his companions seemed comparatively unaffected by the constant movement of the boat. Was he not one of life’s winners? A do-anything, go-anywhere sort of man. It was embarrassing that he was proving to be such a poor sailor. Even worst was the thought that his companions were probably enjoying a quiet chuckle at his expense.
Moments earlier, as he had made his way to the rear of the boat to throw up yet again, he had briefly scanned the horizon for some life-saving land or, indeed, for any sign of life, but in the grey light of early morning, nothing but heaving sea and sullen sky were visible. Then, just as he had bent over to grasp the thin rail that ran across the rear of the boat, the Dolphin had given a sudden lurch and, missing the rail completely, he went head first into the Dolphin’s churning wake. Even before his body hit the water, he knew he was about to die and he cursed his stupidity for believing in Bob Armstrong and his idiotic, hare-brained idea. For that mistake he surely had signed his own death warrant.
As the sea closed over him, to a man newly emerged from a cosy sleeping bag, it felt freezing cold and the breath was completely knocked out of him. In that same instant all the muscles in his body stiffened and cramped. He was not a good swimmer at the best of times – not that it mattered one iota in his present predicament – and in his rush to be sick, he had not even taken the time to put on his life jacket. With lungs screaming for air, he seemed to remain submerged for an absolute age, but probably was no more than a few seconds before the air trapped in his oilskins forced him back to the surface.
As a wave lifted him, he was in time to see the Dolphin disappearing into the distance and from the determined way the little boat continued to force its way through the sea it was clear no one had heard his cry. It would be some time before he was even missed, by which time he would certainly be dead. He made a feeble attempt to call out for help but immediately his mouth filled with seawater and he convulsed into a fit of coughing which ended when he breathed in yet another lungful of ice cold sea. His last thought was one of bitter rebuke for the man who was to blame for bringing him to this lonely, untimely and ignominious end.

It had been so different earlier in the day when he and his travelling companions had left Kenton full of hope and optimism. After a tiring drive lasting many hours, Alan and his three companions finally reached Dunvegan, a small fishing village in the north of the Isle of Skye. By that time it was late afternoon but being so far north, many more hours of daylight still remained to the day. To confirm their imminent arrival, Bob Armstrong, the leader of the St Kilda Group, had telephoned ahead to Archie Finlayson, a local fisherman who, the previous week, had accepted the charter to sail Bob and his three companions out to St Kilda. The jetty from where they would set sail was tucked away down a narrow path running parallel to the loch side. Dunvegan was a tiny village and the jetty was even smaller. Archie and his son, who would be his only crewmember, were waiting down at the harbour when they arrived and, recognizing the Land Cruiser Bob said they would be driving, they quickly made themselves known to the new arrivals.
This was a new venture for Archie and his son who only recently had started advertising their boat chartering services on the Internet. They were really inshore fishermen who caught prawns and crustaceans for a living but because that living had become so uncertain, they were now prepared to do anything to get by. They had only been out as far as St Kilda once before and had never actually landed there; not that they were about to reveal that piece of information to their latest customers. They examined Bob’s party with professional eyes as the four men came forward.
Accompanying Bob and Alan was Alex Ferguson, a Lakeland farmer together with Neil McKenzie, a bearded, young giant of a man who was an experienced offshore fisherman. Each man would bring his own unique set of skills to the task of examining St Kilda as a possible home for the group of forty-five like-minded men, women and children who presently made up Bob’s specially selected company who were hoping to establish a new life for themselves away from the growing dangers of the U.K. mainland.
The weather was favourable, as was the tide, and Archie Finlayson was keen not to delay the sixty mile crossing to St Kilda. Apart from the Finlaysons, only Neil was genuinely looking forward to the idea of setting out to sea in what appeared to be a dangerously small boat. Indeed, when the three landlubbers looked out across the bleak, grey loch, knowing that within a few short hours they would be tossing about on the sea, miles away from the safety of land, they were justifiably filled with trepidation.
Hiding their disquiet with action, they set to with a will and the contents of their Land Cruiser were quickly transferred into the Dolphin, Archie’s ancient, smelly, but powerful, fishing boat. While Bob and Alex checked that sufficient provisions had been packed to last four healthy, hard-working men a couple of weeks, Alan made sure the locally purchased paints, sealants, sand, cement and other building materials they had asked Archie Findlayson to acquire on their behalf were also loaded. Neil confirmed that the Gemini, a small, rubber craft with a powerful outboard motor they had hired for two weeks, was also safely stowed aboard. They hoped that once they reached St Kilda and had started exploring the main island from the land, the Gemini might be used to explore it and the other near-by islands from the sea.
‘Och aye, we do it a’ the time,’ Archie replied with a hint of a smile on his rugged face to Alex Crawford’s nervously worded query about whether or not he, Archie, ever went out as far as St Kilda.
Archie was of indeterminate age with dark, deep-sunk eyes and a straggly grey beard. His son, Walter, was also difficult to age. He had the same deep-sunk eyes as his father but in his case, though the beard was just as straggly, it was red. Neither man appeared keen to enter into conversation with the strangers, which suited Bob and his party just fine. In any case, during their journey northwards they had agreed to say as little as possible about themselves and their reasons for wanting to visit St Kilda.
Archie estimated the crossing would take between eight and ten hours and because cooking facilities were somewhat limited on board, he suggested Bob’s team could do worse than to get themselves a sustaining meal in a nearby hotel before they set off.
‘Ye never know when you’ll get your next one,’ he said, before adding, ‘Walter and me’ll go hame for oors. The missus will ha’ something waiting fer us. We’ll meet ye back here in an hour or so.’ Then, without so much as a nod or a backwards look, father and son got in their car and drove away.
In the hotel, only Neil ate heartily. For some reason, the others seemed to have lost their appetites. Instead, they sat engrossed in their own private thoughts as they quietly contemplated their meals, which they did little more than push around their plates. In the short walk to the hotel only the grey sea-loch had been visible but the view was enough to plague the three non-sailors with thoughts of seasickness. The less they ate, they reasoned, the less there would be to bring up when they eventually succumbed to the dread malaise. In any case, their previous long journey, together with the excitement of the moment had quite taken away their desire for solid sustenance.
With the confidence of youth, thirty-year-old Neil had neither misgivings nor qualms about the decision he and his new bride, Sally, had made when they were approached to join the St Kilda Group. He was the youngest of the married men making up the Group and was just ten years older than Harry Walsh, who, at twenty was the oldest of Jack and Susan Walsh’s four children. He had been pleased to be invited to accompany Bob Armstrong on this trip of discovery and was eagerly looking forward to visiting somewhere previously known to him only through stories and news articles. Whatever the outcome, this would be as memorable a trip for Neil, as it would be for the other men, though for rather different reasons.
Alan Campion had no qualms about Bob Armstrong’s plan but it was disconcerting to discover that even the slight motion of the Dolphin as she lay tied to the quayside made him feel uneasy. He now dreaded the journey out to St Kilda while he knew there could be no turning back. In any case, he was anxious to be present when the St Kilda houses were first checked out. This would be his best opportunity to put in a claim for one of the larger ones which, of course, was only his due. His was one of the larger families and wasn’t he putting up by far the largest stake?
Alex Ferguson was also concerned about seasickness but he had a more important worry. He loved his farm which lay just outside Kenton and he never normally travelled far from it. This would be his very first sea trip and he was worried his wife and family might not be able to manage while he was away for so long a time. At least Andrew Armstrong, Bob’s oldest son, who was studying agriculture and was a friend of the family, had promised to visit every day to help out during his absence. These days there were so many problems involved in running an isolated farm, what with people prepared to tear down his gates and fences for the wood, which they burned to heat their houses, to others who were prepared to steal anything that was not securely held down. Life for a farmer was not what it once was.
For his part, while he toyed with his food, Bob Armstrong, who was an engineer by profession, let his mind wander back to some of the events that had crystallized his decision to isolate himself and his family from the many dangers of modern existence. Not many appeared to realize that the world was in terminal decline and, hopefully, a general panic was still many months or even years away. One hundred years earlier many people had feared the destruction of the Earth through some cataclysmic nuclear war; fortunately, that threat was now just a memory. When the Cold War finally came to an end, people began to relax, unaware that worldwide dangers would creep up to threaten them even as they slept. As a result, ignorance, apathy and greed were doing the job that runaway asteroids and nuclear bombs had not.
Many might call him a doom-monger, but Bob was a firm believer in tipping points. These are points which, once passed, rapidly result in an escalation towards either good or ill and he was now convinced it was already too late to reverse the inevitable and continued downwards spiral into complete collapse towards which the world was heading. So much so, shortly after he and Jesse, his wife, first formulated their plan to escape to some safe haven where they could isolate themselves from the worst of what they saw all around them, it had proved remarkably easy to persuade ten other families to their point of view. However, talking about doing something radical was easy; actually doing it and then being prepared to live out the dream was something else entirely.
Bob looked across to where Alan Campion sat picking at his food. His heavy, handsome face hardly moved so engrossed was he in his own private thoughts. Although not built on the same grand scale as Neil, Alan was another big man. Running a bit to fat now that he could get others to do the heavy work for him, he was still a force to be reckoned with; in more ways than one. He and his wife, Christine, had three children and their financial contribution to the project was already considerable and far exceeded that of any other family. He was always positive and direct in his support of the project and he brought vital building skills and contacts to the group. Somewhat incongruously, he was also a lay minister. For all that, or perhaps because of it, he was the only one of those forming the St Kilda group who made Bob feel uneasy. Alan and his family were the invitees of Jack Walsh, Bob’s oldest and closest friend. The Walshes had been the first to agree to follow Bob into isolation and it was only this and his friendship with the Walshes that had stopped Bob vetoing the entire Campion family when they were first proposed – but it was far too late for such doubts and self-recriminations now.
For all his uncertainty about Alan Campion, Bob Armstrong was very sure about the overall direction he wanted his plan to take and he was still the clear, undisputed driving force behind it. When he had first met each of the other families, he had crystallized their worst fears and concerns. Before he had proposed his life-saving plan to them, they had felt helpless to do anything to improve their situations but in his quiet, authoritative way, Bob seemed to offer a genuine lifeline to a better, though harder, life and almost all those approached had been only too eager to grasp the opportunity he offered. Of course, most saw it only as a temporary move away from danger, fully expecting to be able to return home again to friends and families when the world situation eventually improved. While life for the others in the Group during the last few weeks had been hectic and exciting, for Bob it had been quite exhausting.

An hour later, with Neil stepping out eagerly in front while the other three dragged nervously along behind, the group returned to the Dolphin. Archie and Walter were already on board and watched their approach with amusement. As the men drew near, Archie turned to Walter with an evil grin.
‘Which one d’ye reckon will throw up, first, son?’
With an equally wicked smile on his rugged features, Walter nodded towards Alan Campion.
‘I’ll put my money on yon big laddie in the sheepskin jacket, da’.’
‘Right, I’ll take you up on that. I’ll bet ye a fiver it’s the fellow in the green hat.’ Archie indicated Alex Crawford.
Walter only had time to mutter, You’re on,’ before the party arrived at the boat side.
‘Come on aboard,’ Archie called down to the men. ‘If it’s all right with you, I’d like to get underway straight away.’
Neil swung expertly aboard while the other three tiptoed nervously across the short plank that rather loosely connected the Dolphin to the quay.
Pretending concern, Walter looked up at the sky. ‘The sea’s gonna be a wee bitty lumpy once we’re clear of the loch but the weather forecast’s good and wi’ a bit o’ luck we’ll be off St Kilda by tomorrow morning. Oh, an’ if anyone still feels peckish, dinnae ye worry; we can always have a fry-up on the way. I’ve got plenty of eggs and bacon down in the galley.’ He winked at Walter who grinned back as he went forward to untie.
The waters in Loch Dunvegan were comparatively calm as they motored slowly north. They were treated to a splendid view of Dunvegan Castle, at one time holding the distinction of being the oldest inhabited castle in the British Isles. It now stood proud but empty, its owners having departed some years earlier. On their left hand side, or as Neil would say, their port beam, the tiny, remote settlements of Colbost, Totaig and Galtrigill slid quietly by. It was a beautifully clear early evening and behind them, to the south, the smooth water of the loch reflected the distant Cuillins. Apart from the gentle thump of the boat’s powerful engines, the only sound to be heard was the mewing of the few hopeful gulls that followed behind. Nor was it long before the tiny settlements of Uig and Boreraig slid by. All the men were enjoying themselves and Alan and Alex gradually gained in confidence. Perhaps the journey would not be as difficult as they feared.
Unfortunately, once they rounded Dunvegan Head the wind picked up and the sea became choppy just as Archie predicted it would. A strong smell of diesel oil and fish emanated from the very planks of the Dolphin and, soon, Alan and Alex began wondering how they could possibly last out the next eight to ten hours the crossing was predicted to take. Out in the Little Minch, the currents ran powerfully and the waves grew in size. Immediately, all three non-sailors began to feel varying degrees of discomfort but the Dolphin was finally in her element. Quite literally, she seemed to come to life as she surged through the waves, her engines thumping powerfully away beneath her and it wasn’t long before a strong spray began sweeping the decks. With another surreptitious wink at his son, Archie suggested the party might be warmer and drier down below in the galley where they could make themselves a cup of tea.
As Walter guessed would be the case, the motion of the boat coupled with the confined space of the galley quickly became unbearable to all except Neil. Indeed, he seemed quite impervious to the constant violent movements of the small vessel. Noting their discomfort, he took pity on his companions and suggested they should wrap up warm, put on their waterproofs and life jackets and then go back up onto deck until they were ready to turn in. He also warned them to hang onto something at all times while they were out on deck. Gratefully, his friends wasted no time getting out of the smelly confines of the galley but because there was no room for them in the wheelhouse, they were forced to sit behind it, huddled in the only place that offered a modicum of shelter from the constant wind and spray. They were cold and uncomfortable but Neil was right; while they could see the horizon, the motion of the boat somehow seemed less disturbing. Gradually, the Isle of Skye fell below the horizon and it was not long before the Isle of North Uist loomed up before them.
Archie explained that since the Dolphin drew so little water and because at present the tide was in their favour, he could take a short cut between North Uist and South Harris by way of the Cope Passage. Thereafter, they would pass between the Isles of Pabbay and Berneray before heading out to St Kilda, which, by that time, would be a mere forty miles due west of them.
It was getting dark when they arrived at the eastern end of the Cope Passage and Walter and Neil prepared a late supper for everyone, which the three seamen thoroughly enjoyed. Gritting his teeth, Bob forced down an egg and a single rasher of greasy bacon, which he washed down with copious mugs of coffee. Again, Alan and Alex could only pick at their food but they drank many mugs of the hot, strong brew. When they were halfway through the Passage, a combination of the smell of the boat, thoughts of their recent meal, the constant lurching of the Dolphin, Walter’s vile smelling pipe and Archie’s carefully chosen words sent both Alan and Alex racing to the side. Precisely who threw up first was to occupy father and son for many a day.
Staking his claim to the bet, Walter said ‘Alan got to the rail first.’
‘Aye, but I’m sure yon Alex let go first,’ Archie countered.
Needless to say, and to the obvious disgust of the other, on such a finely balanced point neither paid up.
Once they were clear of Pabbay, the wind blew much more strongly and what previously had been a choppy sea became a slower but equally uncomfortable Atlantic swell. Neil, completely in his element, was enjoying himself hugely and even in such blustery conditions Bob managed to take an interest in his surroundings. Alex and Alan, who by now recognised they were not the stuff sailors are made of, nor ever would be, sat slumped in the depths of depression trying desperately not to be sick again. At eleven that evening, Neil suggested they should all turn in.
Trying to reassure them, he said, ‘There won’t be anything to see for at least another five hours and if you’re lying down, you’ll feel more comfortable. In fact, I think I’ll turn in, too.’
All four men somehow managed to cram themselves into the Dolphin’s tiny sleeping area where they lay huddled together in their sleeping bags. And all the while the brave little craft plunged on through mounting seas. Out of sight of the men who, much to their surprise and relief, did indeed feel more comfortable when they were lying down, the islands of the Outer Hebrides gradually fell away below the horizon. It had been a long, tiring day and fitfully they slept. Sometime during the night the wind eased and the motion of the Dolphin became slightly less violent.
As he tried to sleep in his cramped bunk, Bob recalled some of the events that had finally convinced him to take action. He was deeply concerned, as any thinking man would be, by the dreadful state the world was in. He was convinced it could no longer sustain such a huge population which, despite so many difficulties, continued to grow at a frightening rate. He was also convinced that, when the collapse came, it would come with devastating suddenness. Only the lucky few or those who had made sensible preparations would survive. Global warming together with rising sea levels merely compounded the difficulty by making low-lying areas as well as vast tracts of tropical and sub-tropical areas unfit for human habitation. Migrants from these areas together with migrants from other disease and war-torn parts of the world continued to flock to Europe and North America in general and to Britain in particular, attracted by its relaxed attitude and by its more comfortable, island climate. Successive governments, recognising there were few votes to be had by controlling the tide, simply denied a problem even existed. While Britain was probably the worst affected of the so-called developed countries, all were affected to a greater or lesser extent. Services everywhere were at rock bottom as was the quality of life. Fuel and water were rationed; class sizes in schools were double or triple what they were at the start of the century, queuing was a way of life and Britain was gradually being concreted over as local councils and developers responded to the need to provide more roads, housing, schools and hospitals. But it was only when his neighbours were murdered in their own home that Bob finally decided enough was enough.
Frank and Abigail Boyd, were friends and near neighbours. They and their children were dragged from their beds in the middle of the night and four of them had been murdered. A wild gang, probably drugs-crazed, had smashed their way into the Boyds’ home and in an attempt to make Frank reveal where he kept his money and valuables, in front of his very eyes they had tortured, raped and murdered Abigail Boyd and her two young daughters, Kathy and Michelle. Unfortunately, there were no great stashes of money or jewellery hidden in the house but the gang refused to accept that unpalatable fact. Their befuddled minds were so convinced that since Frank was a successful business man, it stood to reason he must have loads of money and jewels hidden in his house. The shock of being forced to witness the desecration of his loved ones had killed Frank. Only young Peter, the Boyds’ ten-year-old son had somehow survived, but at what cost? The poor child was now completely traumatised by the experience. The deep scar left by that night was certain to live with him and give him nightmares for the rest of his life. The gang was never caught.
Bob remembered how, shortly after moving in three years earlier, Frank had revealed that his decision to move his family to sleepy Kenton from York was because York, like so many other cities in Britain, was becoming too dangerous a place in which to bring up a family. Gangs of religious fanatics, as well as the purely criminal, terrorized everyone and the lives of ordinary citizens had become a misery. By comparison, Kenton was a quiet, safe backwater. Sadly, over the months and years, the malaise that had once affected only the larger cities in the world spread and eventually reached Kenton. Frank Boyd had tried to protect his family by moving it to a safe part of Britain but his experience proved that nowhere on the mainland, including one’s own home, was safe any longer. That was when Bob hit on the idea of moving his family to St Kilda. If it were not possible to keep the crazed gangs away from his family, the only solution was to move his family away from the crazed gangs. According to what he read, St Kilda had once sustained a population of a hundred or so people for many years, it was also remote and because life there was bound to be hard, it was unlikely to attract too many competitors as an attractive place of sanctuary
That was Bob’s personal tipping point but he still needed to convince his family that a self-imposed isolation on a remote island was now the only way left for them. The Boyds’ murder as well as a well-publicised warning speech from an opposition politician who was brave enough to call on the government to grasp the population nettle, a speech that was immediately rebutted by the man’s colleagues because they saw it as a vote looser, provided a fortuitous combination of circumstances that came to Bob’s aid when he finally plucked up the courage to voice his concerns as well as his solution to his wife. Jesse, with a mother’s concern for her children, proved surprisingly receptive to his suggestion. Peter, his fifteen-year-old son also needed no further encouragement. He saw it all as a huge adventure. Twenty-year-old Andrew and eighteen-year-old Anna were more difficult to persuade.
Andrew was studying agriculture with the Online University and his initial reaction on hearing his father’s proposal was that he was over-reacting to the country’s problems. Andrew had spent his entire life in an over-crowded, dangerous Britain and because he knew no other way, for each new restriction to his freedom, he simply pulled his head yet further below the parapet.
But there were some threats from which he could not escape and because of overcrowding, daily these were penetrating ever deeper into his as well as everyone else’s daily life. Unrestricted travel across the globe had allowed highly infectious diseases and newly evolved viruses to spread with alarming rapidity, and spread they did. Overcrowded countries provided fertile ground for viruses whenever they arrived. At a huge cost, Flu and TB pandemics were largely contained but much more worrying were the new strains of the AIDS and the Ebola virus. There were now four main strains of AIDS , each more deadly than its predecessor but knowing no better way, Bob’s children, like so many others, accepted the situation as normal. Ebola was a new problem. Thirty-five years earlier, after a very expensive and sustained effort, governments had believed it was finally under control. Unfortunately, it had reappeared in the last year but this time with a hugely inflated world population and was now proving much more difficult to control. Already, more than 50,000 people had died from it. These were mostly in Africa, Europe and North America but pockets of the virus were appearing all over the world.
Andrew agree to accompany his parents only when he was reassured he would be allowed to return to his old life if it proved that his father had overreacted. His other concern was his father’s chosen sanctuary of St Kilda. Through his university studies, he claimed to know something about the island and was convinced the agricultural prospects there were bleak. So much so, he was sure St Kilda was a non-starter as a place of refuge. Not having thought through the problem of supply and demand, he was much more attracted to the idea of living on some romantic, sun-drenched desert island, preferably populated by grass-skirted maidens. Indeed, except for its remoteness, St Kilda had little to commend it. Nevertheless, to humour his father, he agreed to give it a second look. That second look, when he took into consideration the use of modern farm machinery, modern farming methods and salt and wind resistant crops, gave Andrew as well as Bob some much-needed encouragement. Of course, the final decision about farming prospects on the island was not Andrew’s to make; that would be down to Alex, the Group’s farmer, which was why he was a member of the advance party.
Anna’s concerns were much more trivial than those of her older brother and, even now, were not resolved. The dangers of modern life were even more of a problem for girls than they were for boys and perhaps Bob and Jesse had been over-protective of their only daughter. So, when she started at the Online University, where she was studying Modern Languages, she revelled in her new-found freedom. She met many new and interesting friends at her monthly, locally-held tutorials, including one young man she was very reluctant to give up and to avoid a serious row developing between themselves and their daughter, Bob and Jesse agreed that Anna would be allowed to delay her final decision until the very last moment. They hoped that time would achieve what logical argument presently failed to do. Even in the face of Anna’s lukewarm response, Bob further complicated the decision-making process when he spelled out the long-term implications of the decision they were about to make. He made it absolutely clear to them that while a move to a wild and primitive place like St Kilda might initially be exciting and interesting, in the long run it would probably become uncomfortable and even boring. But it was his second announcement that completely shocked them, Jesse included. He explained that if they followed his plan and if his worst fears were realized, their isolation might last many years and possibly even the rest of their lives. It was just as well that, by that time, all bar Anna were fully convinced that the alternative of staying put and just hoping for the best was no longer sensible. As Andrew was, they were reassured by the thought that if Bob’s worst fears came to nothing, they could always return to the mainland, poorer but at least healthy and still alive.
That was a major turning point for him but both he and Jesse quickly realized that for the project to stand any chance of success they needed other people and other skills to supplement those they already possessed. As he lay there, Bob smiled when he recalled his concern on first presenting his proposal to people outside his immediate family. It would not have surprised him had they poured scorn on his idea. Fortunately, that hadn’t happened. That same smile was still on his face when eventually he fell asleep.

Archie woke them at four o’clock the following morning. St Kilda would soon be visible, he told them. Alex, comfortable for the first time since the start of the voyage, decided he would stay below in his bunk for a little longer while Alan, Bob and Neil got themselves ready to face the day. Familiar as he was with life below deck, and being much younger and fitter than his companions, Neil quickly dressed in the cramped confines of the cabin. Indeed, while the others were still struggling to get into their boots, he was already making tracks towards the head.
Too late, Bob realized he had forgotten to stuff his discarded clothes down into his sleeping bag when he had turned in the previous night and they were now cold and damp. Alan had made no such mistake so he was slightly ahead of Bob putting on his waterproofs. It was as he struggled to keep his balance in the claustrophobic confines of the cabin that the violent movement of the little craft once again got to him. Letting out a load groan of anguish he seemed to turn green even as Bob looked at him. Then, with a muttered expletive that was even more shocking, coming as it did from the mouth of a lay minister, Alan made a beeline for the companionway connecting the cabin to the deck. Chuckling unsympathetically, Bob slowly followed after.
It was a bleak, grey morning when he pushed his head out into the open and as he did so he thought he heard a seagull scream out from somewhere nearby. He looked skywards but no birds were visible. Then, glancing about him, he wondered where Alan was. He was intrigued that on such a small boat a big man like Alan could so easily disappear from view.
‘I suppose I’d better check that he’s all right,’ he muttered to himself. At this stage he was more irritated by Alan’s disappearance than he was concerned by it and even smiled somewhat heartlessly as he contemplated his companion’s probable plight.
Even though it was midsummer, out in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean the wind blew strongly and was bitterly cold. Bob paused briefly to button up the top of his waterproof jacket, glancing forwards as he did so. He could clearly see the prow of the Dolphin plunging into and lifting out of the waves, throwing spray everywhere as she did so and it was immediately obvious that Alan was nowhere in the forward part of the boat. In any case, even in his present low state, Alan would have had more sense than to be sick into the face of the wind. The wheelhouse blocked Bob’s view to the stern and because the boat continued to plunge and buck in the waves, he took care as he slowly made his way aft. More than once he was grateful for the low guardrail that ran around the deck of the Dolphin. Indeed, at one time, when the boat suddenly seemed to stand on her tail, it was only the rail that stopped him being tipped into the sea.
It was a shock not to see Alan sitting there with his back against the wooden rear of the housing when he eventually rounding the wheelhouse. With his mouth still half-open in disbelief, in an instant it all came back to him; the shriek of the unseen seagull; the violent movement of the craft and Alan desperately trying to reach the taff-rail to throw up.
Frantically, Bob looked out at the ever-widening wake left by the Dolphin but the grey, white and green trail of churned-up water was all he could see. In any case, from his low vantage point, the heavy Atlantic swell made sighting anything in the water virtually impossible. It was just as he had half-convinced himself that Alan must be sheltering somewhere else on the tiny craft that he caught the most brief glimpse of something yellow in the water. It was about one hundred metres behind and as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared again when the Dolphin sank into yet another trough in the swell. The thought that flashed through Bob’s mind was that Alan was wearing yellow oilskins.
If he was nothing else, Bob was a man of action and he wasted no time arguing with himself. Also, as luck would have it, he knew precisely what to do. Staring intently and pointing at the spot where he had last seen the yellow object, he began shouting out at the top of his voice.
‘Man overboard. Man overboard.’
He knew there was a real possibility he was about to make a complete fool of himself. At any moment Alan might appear at his side to ask who was in the water but Bob decided he would have to take that chance; the alternative was just too awful to contemplate.
He was beginning to worry that no one had heard him, sheltered as he was at the stern, when he felt the Dolphin slow and stop. Suddenly, Neil was by his side demanding to know what was wrong. Bob knew how vital it was to keep marking the spot on the ever moving sea where he had last seen that splash of yellow, now almost two hundred metres away and he continued looking and pointing as he answered.
‘I think Alan’s in the sea out there. He came up to be sick again and I can’t be sure, but I think I heard him cry out as he went overboard. Then I thought I saw a splash of yellow in the water back there and I’m pointing to where I think he is. Alan was wearing his yellow oilskins, wasn’t he?’
He half-hoped Neil would tell him he was wrong and that Alan was at that moment safely standing in the wheel-house, but in his heart Bob already knew where Alan was. Even as he spoke, not for an instant did he let his eyes wander away from the spot where he prayed he would be given another brief glimpse of yellow against the grey of the sea. But the sea jealously guards its secrets and gave nothing further away. Once more Bob began to have his doubts but immediately he mentally shook himself. If Alan was not in the water somewhere out there, where was he?
Suddenly he heard Archie’s anxious voice in his ear. ‘Yer doing well laddie. Just ye keep yer eyes on yon spot an’ keep pointing to it. I’m going to ask Walter to come aboot real slow like and I want ye to walk around the boat and to keep yon spot in view as you do. Neil here will guide you to make sure you dinnae fall over anything. Now, how far back do ye reckon he is?’
‘About two hundred metres, I’d guess. But please be quick. I don’t think he can swim.’
Both fishermen looked at each other but neither spoke. They knew that in the bitterly cold conditions of the North Atlantic, even at the height of summer, if someone fell in, it mattered little whether or not the person could swim. It was now all about speed and how long it would take to locate Alan and get him back on board.
Bob’s eyes burned with the effort of not blinking and his arm ached from the effort of pointing to the critical spot for the benefit of Walter, the helmsman. And all the while, now that the Dolphin had turned, the icy wind and spray blew directly into his face.
So low down in the water was he, they almost missed him as they slowly retraced their way. Either he had drifted or Bob’s sense of direction had wavered slightly but, fortunately, they were no more than ten metres to one side when they finally spotted him. Because Bob was still doggedly looking at his chosen spot, it was Neil who first spotted the tell-tale yellow oilskins and it was Neil’s cry of triumph that, at long last, allowed Bob to tear his eyes away from his selected spot on the moving surface of the ocean. But as soon as he saw him, it was as apparent to Bob, as it was to the others, that Alan was lying face down in the water. If the man were not already dead he must be very near his end. Bob guessed it would take at least another three or four minutes before Walter could manoeuvre the Dolphin close enough for the rest of them to drag their companion aboard and those final minutes might well be crucial. Without thinking, he took one step forward and dived into the freezing ocean.
He was at best only a fair swimmer and the cold water completely knocked the breath out of him and caused his legs momentarily to cramp up. He re- surfaced gasping for breath. The water was far colder than any he had ever before experienced but, fortunately, his life-saving dive had taken him to within two metres of Alan. Desperately he trod water for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. Then, encumbered as he was with his waterproofs and life jacket, he struggling to take the three or four feeble stokes needed to reach the drowning man. He could see immediately that his initial fears were probably correct. Alan was now almost certainly dead. He appeared lifeless and there was no sign that he was still breathing. Only the captured air in his waterproofs kept him on the surface of the ocean and every second that air was leaking away from a gap between the oilskins and Alan’s neck. At any moment he might sink below the waves and disappear from sight. The man was deathly pale and Bob could only pray he was still alive. As he struggled to keep Alan’s head above water, the man was a dead weight and Bob could feel his own strength rapidly draining away from him. The freezing cold water was doing to him exactly what it had already done to Alan. If he did not receive assistance soon he, too, would succumb to the cold. He was now no more than an automaton mindlessly striving to keep his own and Alan’s face clear of the water.
As if from a distance he heard Neil shouting encouragement at him and then he felt a line snake across his body. With the automatic gesture of a drowning man he grabbed at it and wrapped it around his free hand while the other hand remained firmly grasping hold of his companion. As the line tightened, he felt himself being pulled towards the heaving boat but not for a moment did he release the claw-like grip he kept on Alan. Moments later, strong arms were grabbing hold of Alan and pulling him back into the Dolphin.
The hull of the fishing boat heaved and crashed in the sea next to Bob, threatening at any moment to smash him beneath it but he no longer had either the strength or the interest to move away from danger. Fortunately, Walter spotted Bob’s peril and, using a long boat hook, managed to push Bob out of harm’s way. With Alan safely on board, though by no means out of danger, the three fishermen turned their attention to Bob. A minute later, like some beached whale, he too was unceremoniously flopped onto the deck. He was barely conscious and was too exhausted and disorientated to care or even to move.
Turning their attention back to Alan, Archie and Neil worked frantically, pumping and pummelling the man’s chest and giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. They worked for a couple of agonizingly slow minutes fearing they had lost him when suddenly, to everyone’s intense relief, Alan gave a shudder and his leg jerked spasmodically kicking Bob in the middle of his back as the latter lay gasping near him. Yelping with pain, Bob managed to roll out of further harm’s way. With a thin dribble of seawater issuing from his mouth, Alan coughed and let out a hoarse groan. The man was alive. They could only pray he had suffered no lasting damage.
At that precise moment Alex emerged from below deck to ask what was going on and why had they stopped.
While Archie tersely explained the situation, Walter and Neil carried the now violently shivering Alan below where they undressed him and dried him before tucking him into one of the bunks, not an easy task considering the size of the man. The dunking in the sea had caused Alan’s core body temperature to fall dangerously low and the first priority now was to bring it back to normal. While Walter and Neil were ministering to Alan, Archie once more got them underway. There was now a new urgency in his actions to which the Dolphin gamely responded. It was now critical to reach the safe anchorage of Hirta’s Village Bay without delay.
While the others were so engaged it was left to Alex to help Bob below where he undressed him, vigorously towelled him dry and then helped him into a fresh set of warm clothes. Alan had been in the water for no more than ten minutes and Bob for less than four, but they had been intensely cold and testing minutes. Nevertheless, after a short rest and an invigorating cup of hot tea, which Archie liberally laced with whisky from his own private reserve, Bob felt strong enough to return to the wheelhouse. Except for his back where Alan had accidentally kicked him and which was now beginning to ache, Bob quickly made a full recovery.
Later, with Alan safely tucked up in a bunk and watched over by Alex, up in the wheelhouse Archie offered Bob a top-up. ‘I thought this was yer first time at sea, Bob.’
Bob eagerly drank from his whisky-laced tea. ‘It is. I’ve only ever been out on a lake in a rowing boat before.’
‘In that case, I dinnae know how ye knew what to do when someone falls overboard but it was exactly right. There’s no doubt about it; ye saved Alan’s life.’
‘Twice,’ Walter said quietly.
‘Aye, that’s right son. You took us back almost exactly to where Alan had fallen in and if you hadnae dived in when you did, those extra couple o’ minutes in that sea might well ha’ been the death o’ the poor soul.’
They all drank to Bob’s health and then they drank to Alan’s speedy recovery. Next they drank to Alan’s oilskins and then to anything else they could think of. They didn’t need telling that they might now so easily be drowning their sorrows instead of celebrating a successful rescue. Their relief was palpable. And all the while, wrapped up like a cocoon, Alan slept his recuperating sleep in the cabin below.
An hour later, away in the distance where the grey sky met an even greyer sea Walter, who had grown more talkative since the near fatality, pointed to a vague lump that appeared on the horizon.
‘That’s Hirta, the biggest island in the St Kilda group,’ he said to Neil and Bob who, in a rosy haze, were both standing next to him.
Neil was not impressed. ‘My god, it doesn’t look very big’.
Walter laughed. ‘It’s no even as big as what you see, man. I know frae here it looks like one big island but that lump on the right is Boreray, another one of the St Kilda group and it’s about 4 miles north east of Hirta. Ye’ll see what I mean when we get closer.’
While Bob and Neil were receiving their geography lesson, Alex, his seasickness forgotten now that there was a job of work to do, continued his anxious watch over Alan.
The dark grey smudge gradually became more substantial and it wasn’t long before, as Walter had predicted it would, Boreray began to separate from the main island. Shortly afterwards they could see a large, lighter-coloured cloud floating above the main island.
Sucking on his pipe, Archie continued Walter’s geography lesson. ‘There’s usually a cloud hanging over Hirta. That’s what we fishermen see first. They say St Kilda has its ain weather. It’s sae mountainous, ye see. Any rain that’s about just gets dumped on it.’ Noticing the worried look that appeared on Bob’s face, he chuckled, ‘But dinnae you fesh yersel’, Bob, lad. Just because there’s a cloud over the island the noo, doesnae mean it’ll be raining there. In fact, I think I can pretty well guarantee it willnae be.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Bob said with a smile.
‘Aye, that’s no a rain cloud, just mark my words. Anyway, ye’ll soon be able tae see for yoursel’. We’ll be anchoring in Village Bay within the hour.’
Hearing so much excited chatter going on above him, Alex left Alan’s side to see what the fuss was all about. Those on deck were most anxious to hear how Alan was progressing and Alex quickly reassured them that he seemed comfortable but was still presently fast asleep. With all except Alan, on deck, as they drew near to Boreray Archie deliberately steered towards it to give his passengers a closer view of the island. In silent awe they watched the sea breaking spectacularly against its sheer cliffs. As they passed beneath those towering walls of stone, the sound of the Dolphins engine caused thousands of fulmars, gannets, puffins, and many other sea birds to take to the wing. The noise of their screaming cries was deafening and an acrid, throat-catching smell of guano and fulmar oil filled the air.
‘How would you fancy landing on Boreray there, and then trying to climb to the top?’ Archie asked no one in particular.
Bob voiced the thoughts of his companions. ‘I certainly wouldn’t, In fact, it looks near impossible.’
‘Well it’s no impossible because the old Hirtans regularly did it when they wanted to get to the gannet nests or when they needed to retrieve their sheep frae the grazing on the very top.’
Neil, who was built more for rugby scrums than he was for anything requiring agility shook his head morosely. ‘I couldn’t climb up there to save my life.’
‘Aye, and nor could I,’ Archie agreed, ‘but those Hirtans did it sometimes wi’ a full-grown sheep slung across their shoulders. They were no like us. Those old St Kildans were a breed apart. Mind you, they had to be to survive out here.’
The same thought passed through the minds of the others and each wondered if they would be up to the challenge. Silently they stared at the solid mass of rock that was Boreray as it reared vertically out of the sea in front of them. They could see no landing place on it and the cliff face seemed impossibly sheer and smooth.
Bob had his first moment of real self doubt. God, I wonder what I’ve let everyone in for. Perhaps it’s all just too ridiculous an idea.
Eventually, with Boreray behind them, Archie steered the Dolphin towards Hirta, which now sat squat and black a mere four miles ahead of them. Away, directly to the south sat the tiny island of Levenish, the fifth and smallest of the St Kilda islands. But the attention of the visitors was now firmly directed towards Hirta.
In a whisper, Neil said, ‘It’s even smaller than I thought it would be and it looks awfully steep and bare.
Bob smiled a little nervously. He too was surprised by the lack of size as well as by the steepness of the island. He was also still worried by Archie’s words. Was it really necessary to be a breed apart to live out here? Also, for some inexplicable reason, the thought of trying to land on Boreray worried him. And as if all that were not enough, he still had no idea what he should do about Alan. Should he be sent back with the Finlaysons? Perhaps he needed urgent medical attention after his ocean ordeal. Alan had only briefly spoken before he lapsed into his recuperating sleep but, encouragingly, his mind had appeared to be clear. That, at least, was a good sign and Bob decided to wait until they arrived and were safely anchored before he attempted to wake the man. Alan had been considerably weakened by his seasickness and had also lost a lot of sleep. His ordeal must have been both terrifying and exhausting. The longer he slept the better. He prayed Alan would make a complete recovery and he vowed to try to be friendlier towards the man in the future. Dragging his thoughts away from Alan, he tried to reply reassuringly to Neil, who was still looking anxiously at him as he awaited an answer to his comment.
‘Oh, it’s not that bare, really, Neil. From this side all we can see are the cliffs, which are all that’s left of the insides of a massive, ancient volcano. The old village where we’ll be staying is on the far side of the island from here.’
Neil raised his eyebrows in relief. ‘Thank god for that. I certainly don’t fancy living the rest of my life halfway up a cliff.’
Bob responded to Neil’s attempt to lighten the situation with a smile. ‘I don’t think it will come to that, Neil. From the photographs I’ve seen, it looks as though the lower slopes of Conachair, that’s the tallest mountain there in the middle,’ he pointed, ‘they might be quite fertile. When we round that headland we’ll be able to see into Village Bay and you’ll see what I mean.’
Even as he spoke, he knew his words were intended to reassure himself as much as they were intended to reassure his young friend.
Twenty minutes later the Dolphin rounded the most easterly point of Hirta and entered Village Bay. They had arrived.

Within the bay, only a slight swell disturbed the surface of the water. Nor was it raining. A jetty jutted out directly ahead of them while, further to the left, the remains of a concrete road zigzagged up one of the mountains, eventually to disappear into the low flying clouds that still hung over the island. From his readings of the history of St Kilda, Bob knew the road led to what was once a radar lookout post. The famous Street of low cottages and black houses, so long home to generations of St Kildans, merged so well with the rock-strewn side of the massive mountain on which it lay that it took Bob a moment even to make it out. Indeed, were it not for the bitumen-painted roofs of the first six cottages, he might easily have missed it altogether. This was partly because, in addition to the well-camouflaged, stone-built cottages, the entire side of the island was dotted with hundreds of other, strange-looking, dome-shaped, stone constructions. There were also many stone walls. Neil was surprised to see so many small houses on St Kilda and briefly wondered who might have lived in them.
Leaving that little puzzle for later, his attention was drawn to yet more man-made constructions on the eastern side of the bay and some distance from the cottages on the Street. Clearly of more recent construction than the cottages and looking like so many other military buildings one could still find all over the British mainland, these appeared as a jumble of old, grey-painted, concrete and corrugated iron huts and offices one time used by servicemen. Thinking they might be of some use to future workers on the island, the MOD had left them behind when, years earlier, they had removed their men and equipment from the island. Another small group of old stone buildings stood even further to the right. These were much closer to the shore. Though he didn’t recognise them for what they were, they were the Manse, the old School and the Church. Yet further to the right again stood the ruins of a building once used by the old St Kildans to store feathers and other bird products that they sold to the mainland. Later volunteer workers for the National Trust for Scotland had used it to store building materials and paints. The sea defences constructed to protect and preserve the shoreline from the violent winter tides that swept the island, had been breached near the Feather Store and most of the building was now in the sea. A heavily rusted old gun dating from 1918 was just visible to the naked eye. Installed after a damaging attack by a U-Boat late on in WW1, it was intended to be a defence against further attacks from German submarines but had never been fired in anger and still stood behind the Store, its place of rest for the last one hundred and thirty odd years, a reminder of those earlier turbulent times. How much longer it would survive was anyone’s guess. As Archie and Walter dropped anchor in the Bay, Bob, Alex, and Neil drank in the sight before them. Bob found himself sweating while Alex felt a knot in his stomach that had nothing to do with his earlier sickness. Neil broke the silence.
‘So, this is it,’ he said, half to himself.