A Tale Of Two Islands

© 2012 David Jasmin-Green

“They'm sweaty an' diseased on Unclean island,” said the wild eyed old woman to her squeaky clean grandson, stressing her point by poking him firmly in the chest with her dirty, gnarled forefinger. “The vermin over there are filthy and unwashed - the word 'bathe' doesn't appear in their vocabulary, and the tight gits never spend money on soap or deodorant.” Norris wondered why the same egg stains that he had noticed on the bib of his grandmother's apron a few days ago were still there, though they were partially covered by dried splashes of tomato juice and a dark, greasy streak of he didn't know what. He wondered why she rarely bathed, and he wondered how she found the cheek to question the personal hygiene of others, but he thought it was best not to question her.

“But why, grandma?” he said. “Why are the folk on Unclean island so different to us? Why don't they use soap or deodorants? Last Sunday the vicar said that everyone in the world is as good as everyone else whatever their creed or colour and no matter where they live, he said that no one is better than anybody else even if they think they are. Why does grandpa and almost everyone else on this island call the other island Baumgarden island instead of Unclean island like you do if Unclean island is its real name?”

“Don't question me, child!” the old woman snapped, filling a manky enamelled cup that was possibly once white with a steaming, semi-liquid dark brown sludge that just might have been tea from the blackened teapot that always sat in the same place on the cast iron grate. “You're only nine years old, an' you should be more respectful of your elders. Those Bumgarden islanders have a lot to answer for. An' Bumgarden island sounds a whole lot worse than Unclean island if you ask me – old foreign names should be changed to English ones on an English speaking island chain.....

Your grandpa's biased, by the way. 'E used to work on that stupid island, see, or at least 'e 'ad an excuse to land there regularly to weigh 'is catch ready for shipment to the mainland - 'e 'ad a licence to fish for clams in Unclean island's waters before the nasty folk there made war on us in 1951. After we sent the thirty odd so-called warriors fool enough to invade us packing the synod made it illegal for Teapot islanders to set foot on that accursed land or for Unclean islanders to taint our blessed 'aven with their soiled feet.

Your grandpa's still got friends over there, or so 'e says, but I shouldn't take a fat lot o' notice of that daft old swine's blatherin', 'cos most days 'e can't even remember 'is own name. Batty, 'e is; e'd forget 'is own 'ead if it wasn't screwed on. Don't tell 'im I told you so for goodness' sake, but on occasion 'e even forgets to toddle to the lavvy when 'e wants a wee-wee.....

As for anyone else that says Unclean island isn't a complete cack-hole, just bloody well ignore 'em, 'cos they're all cretins. Teapot island may be largely populated by cretins an' retards, but that's because of the bad blood that seeped in from that 'ell-'ole before the war. At least our dads aren't also our brothers an' our mums our sisters - at least we're better'n that inbred, web-footed, uggerly-buggerly lot!”

Norris could see Unclean island from the little cove a few hundred yards from his house, and he could see it pretty clearly because it was less than two miles away. Sometimes grandpa let him play with a Second World War Russian telescope that he used to keep on his fishing boat. Norris wasn't supposed to take the telescope to the beach, but sometimes he hid it in his rucksack under his sandwiches and waterproofs. He could see the people on Unclean island going about their business fairly well with the spy glass, as his grandpa called it, and they looked perfectly normal to him.

It was almost a fortnight before Norris had a chance to ask his grandfather about Unclean island. He didn't see his grandfather much just lately because the old fellow was poorly, it was something to do with his innards and kiderneys and whatnot, grandma reckoned. When the old man was feeling off colour, which was most of the time, he spent his days in bed reading dusty old books from the mainland, and he refused all visitors. There was an occasional day or two and sometimes a full week when grandpa emerged from his self-imposed solitary confinement and almost reverted to his old self before falling ill again. Apparently it was something to do with the medicine that the doctors from the mainland sent over on the boat; the medicine was very expensive, Norris had been told, and the family could only afford it when they sold a lot of crabs and lobsters.

“Take no notice of grandma,” the old man said. “She's bleedin' biased. I don't think it's wise to tell you the exact reason why Edith hates Baumgarden islanders 'cos you're too young, but it ain't got nothin' to do with the Three Day War, I'll tell you that much. As you know, Norris, I used to fish just like your dad and your big brother. Fishermen are out at sea a long time, sometimes from early morning until late at night, six, seven days a week for much of the year, and their wives get awfully lonely an' distant. It's like when a kid mislays 'is best toy an' plays with somethin' else, somethin' less special until 'e finds 'is favourite thing again. When I was a young man a few Baumgarden islanders worked in a little factory near where your school is now, it was knocked down years before you were born. They made fishin' tackle, nets and floats and 'ooks, they sold their wares all over the island chain and even on the mainland until cheap gear from China and Taiwan flooded the market and closed the place down. Your grandma got on well with the Baumgarden folk, and she got on really well with one of 'em in particular..... Enough of that, now, don't ask about it again.

I'll tell you what, kiddo, seeing as I'm feeling 'ale and 'earty today we'll borrow your cousin's boat and take you on a quick trip over to Baumgarden island. It'll 'ave to be a secret visit, of course, I'll tell Edith that were off to do a spot of fishin'. Don't tell 'er the truth whatever you do – swear to remain silent, laddie, 'cos if she finds out or she'll 'ave me guts for garters.”

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The little blue and white boat chugged around Baumgarden island in a wide arc, eventually heading for land and settling in a secluded rocky bay well out of sight of grandma if she decided to spy on them, which grandpa said she probably would. “Jump onto the jetty, sunshine, an' tie this old gal up for me. Make sure you pulls that rope real tight, mind, 'cos I can't risk a dip in the briny - that'll more'n likely finish me off.” Norris did as he was told, and he was delighted to discover that he was strong enough to tug the boat all the way to the side of the dock once he had curled the rope around the huge worn post at the end of the landing. Grandpa had to retie the inadequate knot, though. “Come on, kid, let's go walkabouts an' see who's around.”

They followed a steep, narrow path that squeezed between two big columns of eroded granite and then wound through the sand dunes. Soon they came upon a tiny cottage, and a barefooted little girl appeared in the doorway. She looked at Norris quizzically for a moment and then ran towards the old man, who was puffing and blowing a few yards behind him. “Grandpa!” she yelled, throwing her arms around his waist. “I haven't seen you for ages! Why can't you spend more time over here with us?”

“I just can't, Lottie,” he said with a big old sigh. “I've explained why a million times. I 'as a first family that I 'ave to spend most of me time with, sweetie, an' I can only nip over to see you lot when the coast's reasonably clear. That's the way it is, I'm afraid.”

“Why is she calling you grandpa, grandpa?” Norris said. “You're not her grandpa, you're mine!”

“It's, erm, complicated,” the old man said. “Of course I'm your grandpa, Norris, but I'm Lottie's grandpa too. I 'ad a girlfriend over 'ere, you see, a second wife that Edith wasn't supposed to know about, though she probably suspected the truth all along an' kept 'er suspicions quiet – probably because she 'ad 'er own secrets. Petal, my secret missus, died almost eighteen years ago. I 'ave five grown kids and eleven grand-kids 'ere on Baumgarden island. I'm not proud of it, but things were difficult between grandma and I when we were young, let's just leave it at that. I thought it was about time you learned the truth and came to meet your relatives.”

“I see,” Norris said after a period of deep thought during which he tried and ultimately failed to figure out his relationship to the girl. What was she, he thought, his half-sister, half-cousin, or what? “Hello, Lottie, pleased to meet you,” he said.

“Hello, Norris,” she replied. “I'm pleased to meet you, too, I've heard an awful lot about you.” He wished that he had heard an awful lot about Lottie, the boy mused as she hugged him tightly, but of course he hadn't.

“You smell nice and clean,” Norris said, and the girl stepped back, a flush of embarrassment spreading across her cheeks, “and as far as I can see you don't have any diseases, so grandma was wrong about that. But you do have webbed feet.....”