We’re still not seeing a great deal of sunshine, and so this one was chosen mainly to demonstrate how the evenings are getting lighter, even down here in the valley. A place I am about to leave for a week: when I get back we should have sun at the front of the house again. Should it deign to shine.
I have absolutely no idea, for certain, whether this will be my last full day on St Helena or not. I have given up speculating, for if I don’t leave tomorrow as currently scheduled, I might succumb to despair. I tried to avoid this emotion today by going on a walk up to High Knoll Fort — appearing for the third time on this visit. This view is taken from inside, looking down through the battlements to the island’s secondary school on Francis Plain. What the code means, I have absolutely no idea either. One Exits Now? That would be good.
The island is generally good-looking, but perhaps I am getting used to the scenes in my usual haunts of Jamestown and Alarm Forest. Over on the other side of the central ridge, though, the less-frequented Sandy Bay area can still take the breath away. Lot and, on the further ridge, his Wife preside over a scene as fair as any you could name.
This was going to be my last evening on St Helena but I post this on Saturday morning already knowing the flight’s been postponed for at least 24 hours. “Bad weather” supposedly but I can’t say it seems that bad to me. So there’ll be one more picture from here, at least.
Was ‘at work’ ridiculously early this morning, at least by my standards. Francis Plain is the location of St Helena’s secondary school: that this view is taken across the nearby football pitch is not a further manifestation of my, perhaps, over-interest in that sport but just because that’s what the view is. On a generally dull day this was one of the few observed shafts of sunlight. Yes, the litter bin to bottom left does irritate, but otherwise, there are worse views to gee one up at 7.40am.
100 days to go until day 5,000. I guess I can keep it going until May 3rd.
I spent the day entirely in my accommodation, marking. Something I could have done at home (whether on a Sunday or otherwise). The options for a photo were of the garden at the flat, or its view, so let’s try the latter. I have a decent view at home, too… but the day was what it was. Anyway this is High Knoll Fort, or one end of it anyway: a significant St Helena landmark, visible from most of one half of the island, which is, of course, why they built it there.
St Helena sits in such a vast expanse of uninterrupted ocean that sea conditions can often have no direct relationship to what the weather is like locally. The atmosphere was calm today, a beautiful day of weather (in fact, all of them have been, since I came here, except for one bout of mild drizzle last Wednesday afternoon). But the sea…. that was a different story.
“Rollers” are the local name for waves driven by storms way to the north, like off Canada, or Florida, and which just roll down the ocean for thousands of miles until hitting this small lump of rock that happens to be in the way. On one day in February 1846 (see this page) the rollers were so intense that they took out half of Jamestown and about thirty moored vessels. They weren’t quite that bad this afternoon but still, it’s noticeable no one was parking their cars on the wharf.
Whatever the wind farm on Deadwood Plain is doing to help St Helena generate power in a sustainable way, this particular turbine ain’t contributing. The cows seem stoic about the situation, though, as cows so often do. I passed on my way up Flagstaff Peak behind, at 2,257 feet above sea level. A century and a quarter ago, this place would have been crowded with tents and huts — it was a prison camp for those captured in the Boer War (fought so the British state could get its hands on gold and diamonds, before anyone tells you it had worthier motives).
I wasn’t flying from Cape Town back home, in case you were wondering, but instead to St Helena, for my fourth visit. Who can ever say these things for sure, but it’s possibly my last — put it this way, it’s the last, for now, for which I have the money, or rather, for which someone else has given me the money, in this case the British Academy (to whom thanks are due).
Whomever resides in this particular spot these days has definitely made their last visit to this remote little island, though. There are worse places to spend eternity.
I’m sure this is one of those places of which we’ve all heard, but have never given a great deal of thought to what it might actually look like. Well — here you go. As seen shortly after take-off from Cape Town airport this morning.
I had hoped to ascend Table Mountain whilst here, but today was my only real chance and, all day, it was draped in what is locally known as ‘The Tablecloth’ — and it’s a very accurate description of this particular cloud. Surely there are very few cities in the world with such a monumental lump of rock sat right by the downtown area.
Being 42 