Shipwrecked by Gay Duffield – Battery Point Community Association

In this story, Battery Point resident Gay Duffield tells the story of how she and her parents were shipwrecked on Palmerston Island during their journey from London to Australia in 1972. Gay’s parents had earlier settled in Adelaide. Gay’s father bought a 75’ boat when visiting the UK and made the decision to sail it back to Australia. Gay, who was living in Canada at the time, volunteered to join them on the voyage.

We are very pleased that Gay survived to tell the tale as she, with her partner Len Spaans, contribute generously to the life of Battery Point. They are renowned for their generous, ongoing contribution to the annual Photographic Competition and Second-hand Book Fair on behalf of the community. They are also the creators of the entertaining radio plays that have been greatly enjoyed by residents in recent years.

It was 1 October 1972. The previous night had been just miserable. The engine had been stopped, and the boat rolled about aimlessly in the dark. We knew by the sextant sightings taken the previous day that there was land somewhere close by and so didn’t want to take the chance of finding it in the dark. A sea anchor was put out to hopefully keep the boat from drifting too far. No one had a wink of sleep.

Three months earlier, my Dad, a retired sea captain, Mum and I had set off from England in a converted naval boat. We named her Gildegay. We were heading to Australia via the Panama Canal.

Mum in high heels

We had had a good trip, the weather had not been too unkind, and we had met some fantastic people in all the ports we had visited. We had just spent a few glorious days in Tahiti and were at sea again.

At daybreak, the engine was started and life as we knew it was back to normal. We all had a good day catching up on much needed sleep.

That night, Mum was on the bridge on watch. I was in the aft cabin asleep. I was due to go on watch at midnight, and Dad was sleeping in the captain’s cabin near the bridge. It was around 11.00 pm when I was woken by a thud and then an awful grating noise. I dashed to the bridge and met Dad on the way. He told me we had hit a reef and to quickly go down to the engine room and put the engine in reverse.

That was terrifying. I could hear a terrible noise against the wooden hull. I remember thinking that any minute the sea would come pouring in. The engine was revving but it just couldn’t cope; we didn’t budge. Dad said to come back up, which I did gladly. A few flares were sent up, which made the scene rather eerie. Everything was pink. We could see by the light of the flares just how bad our predicament was.

We had been pushed broadside onto the reef and were being bombarded with huge waves crashing over the decks. We sent Mayday messages but knew in our hearts that if we were to survive it was up to us.

There was no panic, no fear. We just packed a few things in a bag: passports, ship’s papers, jewellery, a bottle of whiskey, put our shoes and boots on and headed for the deck. Dad told Mum and I to go forward and wait there while he went to get a rope or something to help us get off. We tried to cling on, but the waves were very bad, and debris was being washed against us. We were nearly washed overboard a few times, so we moved aft where the bridge afforded some protection. Dad came back with the rope. He jumped off, helped Mum off and then me.

We couldn’t see anything: no lights, just darkness. We had to move on as we knew we couldn’t stay there. The waves were getting worse, so we moved on as one. We walked as far as we could then had to jump into the water as the coral had disappeared. We found another patch of coral and climbed on to that. It was not easy as the coral was like a mushroom – there was no foothold, and it was so dark that we kept falling into channels with water surging in and out. We became separated many times, so we shouted to guide each other.

At some stage, we saw a light. Oh wonderful! Someone had come to help. We yelled HELP! HELP! There was no reply. We headed for it. It was one of our automatic lights from a life belt that light up in saltwater. That little light saved our lives. It didn’t give off a lot of light but at least we could see a few feet in front of us now. We trudged, scrambled, swam, were washed off the coral, pounded by the waves, but always tried to keep the boat behind us, just hoping that there would be some firm ground somewhere. We grabbed at each other to keep together.

The bag and all its contents had gone. I had been holding it and just couldn’t hang on any longer. I had kicked off my boots as they were dragging me under and my cardigan disappeared. I don’t remember it coming off. Mum was getting really tired by this time but we were all determined to get there together, wherever that was. Eventually the waves lessened and we were walking on dry coral. My feet were getting rather cut up, so Dad took off his socks and gave them to me. He still had his shoes on.

What a relief! We were now on a beach of sorts and could just make out the silhouette of bushes. We headed for them. We were exhausted and just wanted to lie down but Dad suggested that, since we were all shivering, we should get some twigs and leaves and cover ourselves with them to try and get warm. We did that, then huddled together.

Daybreak came quickly and with it the warmth of the sun. It was with dismay that we saw the devastation of the previous night. The boat had broken her back and the bow was moving in a different direction from the stern. It looked grotesque. There was wreckage everywhere. We found the wooden lifeboat and thought that it might come in handy, but its bottom had been ripped out. Even the wooden steering wheel had been smashed into small pieces. It was heartbreaking. What now? Had anyone seen our flares or heard the Mayday message?

We collected the wreckage that we thought might come in useful for us to survive until rescued and explored the island. The thought even crossed our minds that maybe, just maybe, there could be a five-star hotel round the corner! There wasn’t. We managed to chuckle at the stupidity of that idea. The island was uninhabited.

We really didn’t feel hungry at this stage but thought we should start looking for food. Coconuts were in abundance, but we didn’t know how to get inside them. We were still in shock, so grateful to be alive – for us all to be alive.

We decided to go to the other side of the island where we discovered a beautiful lagoon with a white sandy beach. It would be a far more pleasant place to make camp away from the ferocious sea and its memories.

No-one knows who saw it first – something red. Was it a marker buoy in the lagoon? It seemed to be getting closer. Oh, it couldn’t be. Yes, it was. A sail. A boat was heading our way. We jumped up and down and shouted, hoping to attract attention. The sailboat finally landed on the beach and three young men jumped out. One of the men shimmied up a palm tree and threw three coconuts onto the ground, which quickly had their tops lopped off. It was like nectar, cool and sweet, and the best drink we had ever tasted. The men took us in their boat across the lagoon to the island where they lived.

It must have taken a good half hour to get there and during the trip they told us that there were many islands in the atoll but theirs was the only one inhabited. We were at Palmerston, which is part of the Cook Islands. They also explained that they were going to collect coconuts on another island that day, but because of the weather they had decided to go to ‘our’ island. What a stroke of luck!

When we finally arrived, everyone came to the shore to greet us. An old man, rather bent and wearing a tippy cap and with a very old telescope under his arm, approached us and introduced himself as Ned Marsters, the chief clerk of the island. We were treated like long lost friends. We were fed and given clean dry clothes.

We were then shown to a house where we were to live for the next nine weeks. It was the Mission house, which had a verandah along the front about 38 feet long. A large centre room ran from front to back and each end was divided into two rooms, one facing front and one facing back. Like many others on the island, it was built of timber from wrecked ships.

Gay and her parents with Ned Marsters, Chief of the Island

Gay’s temporary home behind the church, which was constructed of timbers collected from shipwrecks

We lived and worked with the islanders and learned how to husk coconuts, make copra, make ornaments from seashells and how to fish with a rope made of coconut fronds. We introduced them to a Friday night dance night with silly games. The children loved it. The islanders were just wonderful, and it was a very sad day when we finally had to say our goodbyes to each of the 70 beautiful residents and head for Australia.

Gay with her parents

Our last few days were taken up with going around to all the houses, having a chat and saying thank you for all the kindnesses. This was also a time for receiving gifts that they had all been secretly making for us. We received beautiful Panama hats made from coconut palm leaves, fruit bowls made from shells collected from the reef and woven into vases and baskets, table mats neatly woven and dipped in pretty colours, floor mats and so many other different items.

The copra boat calls into each of the islands every few months with supplies and to pick up copra. We were rowed to the copra boat through a gap in the reef which had to be timed just right with the waves. After the islanders loaded the copra, we headed to Rarotonga where we stayed with one of the relatives of the people on Palmerston. As we had lost our passports we had to get New Zealand passports, (The Cook Islands is a protectorate of NZ). We then flew to Western Samoa, on to Auckland, then Sydney and finally Adelaide.

Such memories!

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